


his but to do and die

by kitcatkandy



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Arabian AU, Bokuaka - Freeform, Eventual Happy Ending, Family, Fluff, Forced Prostitution, Friendship, Harem, Hurt/Comfort, KageHina - Freeform, M/M, Royalty AU, Slavery, Smut, daisuga - Freeform, honestly i have no idea what this is, iwaoi - Freeform, matsuhana - Freeform, side ships also which don't appear much, slight dubcon, will add relationships as we go along
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-06-09 17:43:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 67,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6917026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitcatkandy/pseuds/kitcatkandy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>it was his not to reason why, his but to do and die</i><br/>Iwaizumi is bodyguard to crown prince Oikawa of the kingdom of Aoba Johsai, and things are not going well for the royal family. There's a revolution brewing, and it doesn't make things easier that Oikawa and Hanamaki and the rest of the youths of the peerage refuse to wake up and realise that things are actually becoming serious. Iwaizumi has always loved Oikawa, but he's never worked up the courage to confess. Besides, Oikawa has his own harem of women to look after him. But when a young slave called Hinata enters the equation, things start to happen, especially when Kageyama, the second prince in line and Oikawa's half-brother starts to feel a little something more for his brother's slave.<br/>Because the world needs more pining Iwaizumi/Oikawa playing with feelings/HaremxArabianxRoyalty AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Iwaizumi - Confessional

**Author's Note:**

> Because I am Iwaoi trash. Also being the prince of a harem would fit Oikawa so well and I'm just a sucker for bodyguard fics. Enjoy!

Oikawa comes quickly, far too quickly, and Iwaizumi wonders why that bothers him so. 

  
_If it were he,_ he thinks, when he doesn't have anything much to do and he actually lets himself sit down and think, _if it were he, he'd drag things out a bit more, give it to Tooru a little slow, a little tender, then a little harder till he begged for release, and then he'd grip on tight to that tantalising, throbbing cock and just -_

He always stops himself there. He knows it's dangerous when he starts thinking in that direction, knows how futile it would be to get any sleep that night because he'd be jacking off, dreaming of breathy cries and kiss-marked skin and desperate hands clawing at his back. He knows life would be much easier if he just got out of this fucking empire, jumped on the nearest camel and rode as far and as hard as possible away from Aoba Johsai, but one, he can't go back home, and two, he just can't leave Oikawa behind. 

Oikawa, who he's known since they were both babes in arms - Oikawa, who convinced him to sneak into the forest at night to hunt for forest elves - Oikawa, who had stolen and hidden his only pair of serviceable shoes the day before he had had his Royal Guard inauguration ceremony - Oikawa, who, the day he had gotten his first slave, had invited him in to watch.

Iwaizumi shudders as he recalls the memory, more out of fear than of lust. Fear, because he hadn't been turned on by the slave's large bosom and her alluring, almond-shaped eyes, but by the one pearl-pink nipple he had glimpsed peeking out of the robe Oikawa had been wearing. It had been fear that had sent him fleeing, out of that darkened room into the sunlight, into sanity and safety, while he desperately tried to calm the erection in his pantaloons. One thing he had learned that day? It was devilish hard to run with a hard-on. Also, that Oikawa's lazy smile did something to his insides, twisted him all round and upside down till he didn't know if he was standing upright or on his head. 

And now they were both twenty-one, of age, and Iwaizumi's been Oikawa's personal bodyguard since, it often seems, forever. It has always been Iwaizumi tagging along behind Oikawa, making sure he doesn't do anything stupid (because that would be so in character, wouldn't it), making sure he doesn't fuck anyone's life up (because he's a fucking spoiled brat, that's what he is) and making sure he doesn't get himself killed. Because things aren't going very well in the capital, politically-speaking, and there are people who'd rather see Oikawa dead than sitting alive on the throne of Aoba Johsai. The scars on his chest and his abdomen bear witness to that. He can't count even on both hands the number of times he's had to disarm a prostitute, manhandle a slave, pin down a possible assassin, all for the crown prince - and in the end, what had he gained? Nothing but a body marked with scars, scars he'll never dare show Oikawa because he just wouldn't be able to understand why. 

How could he, when Iwaizumi can't even understand why himself? 

(of course, he knows the reason why he throws himself in front of anything and everything because of the prince, why he'd willingly take a knife or a poisoned dart or a bludgeon to the head, because it's something to do with the way Oikawa's face crinkles when he smiles, how he throws back his head and the golden brown strands of his hair glint in the sunlight -)

Iwaizumi is startled out of his reverie by the creaking of the bed, the quiet murmurings of the voices behind the curtains. He thanks heaven that they're made out of thick fabrics, because he doesn't know if he could stand it if they were more translucent. 

The slave climbs lazily off, shaking out the bright ringlets of her hair. She is naked, her skin glistening pale and sleek, and Iwaizumi averts his eyes. He doesn't want to see the come on her stomach, doesn't want to see the evidence of Oikawa's satiation on her body, doesn't want to see the numerous bite marks and red spots on her skin because, goddammit, he doesn't think he'd be able to handle it. 

He calls for the guard standing outside the door to enter, all the while aware of the slave pulling on her discarded garments, watching to make sure doesn't have a weapon concealed under those blousy clothes. He can't even remember the number of slaves who've drawn a knife on the prince, tried to stab him before they could be apprehended and executed. When she's finally gone, with a whiff of perfume and a final coy glance back at the bed, he finally breathes a sigh of relief, and turns to look at Oikawa. 

_God, he's beautiful_ , is the first thing that comes to mind. He's sitting up in the bed, running his fingers through that beautiful head of hair - it should be illegal to have fingers that erotic, but for once Iwaizumi just wants to stop and stare - and the curve of those kiss-puffed lips is absolutely sinful. He looks like an angel reborn, which is, of course, exactly what he isn't. 

"Iwa-chan," he calls, and his voice has that sleep-roughened edge it always gets when he's just had sex, "has she left?" Oikawa stretches his arms above his head lazily, and Iwaizumi tries not to let his eyes follow the long slender line of his triceps. 

He bows, formally, something Oikawa has always laughingly told him to forego, but he just can't let go of these small rituals that characterize their relationship as prince and royal guard. "Yes, my prince, she has left. Would you prefer I order the guard to bring another slave for your pleasure?" he asks, even if it makes his chest clench, because it wouldn't be the first time Oikawa has asked him for something like that. Oikawa smiles, a lazy smile, and shakes his head. 

"I think I've had enough for today," he purrs. He gets up off the bed, and Iwaizumi automatically lifts the linen robe in his hands, slipping it carefully over Oikawa's shoulder. His fingers ghost over the pale white surface, and he doesn't miss how Oikawa shudders at the touch to his oversensitive skin. 

"Iwa-chan," he whines, drawing out the words, as Iwaizumi reaches around him to fasten the belt, "I need your advice." He prattles on, heedless of whether Iwaizumi is listening, and Iwaizumi _is_ listening, because the sound of Oikawa's voice is like a river, lazy and continuous and calming. 

"I don't know if I should ask Father for a male slave the next time, because Makki was telling me the other day at the party that he's just gotten a male slave of his own, and that it's just so much more pleasurable with a man, so I didn't know if I should try it or not, I mean, I didn't know if I could actually fuck a man - _ow!_ Iwa-chan!" The last comes as a sharp cry - Iwaizumi had unconsciously tightened the belt around his waist too tightly, his fingers automatically clenching in an effort not to - to what? Put them around Oikawa's throat? 

He makes an effort to calm himself down, to consciously loosen his grip on the belt, and glares at Oikawa over his shoulder at the familiar pout he's giving him. "Shittykawa," he grumbles (and he definitely does _not_ revel in the sound of those words on his lips, because he, and only he, is allowed to call Oikawa that) "Don't drag me into your love affairs. I don't want to hear about your sex life."

Oikawa laughs his tinkly, faerie-like laugh. "Iwa-chan, you're such a monk," he teases, "You're still a virgin, aren't you? You know how easily I could remedy that. I wouldn't mind if you took a few slaves from the harem every now and then for yourself, you know I really wouldn't mind, because you're my best friend, after all!" 

Iwaizumi wants to kill him. Really, he does. His mind runs through several methods of execution he could carry out, right here and now, but instead he forces the familiar scrunched-up glare onto his face and picks up the headdress on the nearby table. He wraps it carefully around Oikawa's brown locks. The prince is still babbling on. 

"Really, I was inspecting the newest batch of slaves the other day, and some of the males were really quite good-looking. Not as pretty as me, of course, but I wouldn't mind fucking them. I didn't want to say so to Father, I don't know what he'd think, but Makki's words really got me thinking, you know? And then of course he brought me to see the slave that day when I accompanied Father to his palace, he really is quite beautiful, you know? Tall, dark, handsome - though he did have pretty thick eyebrows, of course Makki says that's his charm point - and Makki said he'd let me try how good it felt with a man!"

Iwaizumi feels his heart stop. He remembers that day, when Oikawa had shooed him out of the visiting chamber. He remembers the slave, tall and stately, with lazy hooded eyes and curling black hair, and they had made eye contact for a startling moment, something like a dawning understanding in the other man's eyes. Now, he tries to make his voice even, tries to stop his heart from stuttering, but at the same time he can't quite help the quiver in his fingers as he asks, casually, "And did you? Try it out, I mean?"

Oikawa squeals - actually _squeals_ \- and glances back at him through those awfully, sinfully long eyelashes. "Naughty Iwa-chan!" he crows. "You want to know, don't you? Well, if you really want I could ask Makki to let you join in, I did say at the time that it was rather mean to kick you out of the chamber, but Makki insisted - he said you weren't worthy, or some shit like that, because it obviously isn't true, you're my best friend of course!"

Iwaizumi growls. He growls, because the number of commas in that long sentence was brutally high. "Oikawa, did you or did you not have sex with him?" he says exasperatedly. 

Suddenly, there is a curious look in Oikawa's face he cannot fathom, something that flickers like the flame of an oil lamp and is time the next instant. He blinks, not sure if it was a trick of the light or if it had been a figment of his overeager imagination. 

There is an awkward beat of silence between them, a moment that stretches too far, too fast, then Oikawa pouts. 

"Of course I didn't," he says, turning his face away, and Iwaizumi could almost swear that he's sulking, "Makki said he only did the fucking, and I don't want a man fucking me! I mean, imagine it! A mere slave, putting his dick inside a prince?" His voice has gone back to normal, that hint of drama ever pervasive, and Iwaizumi lets out a breath he didn't know he's been holding. "I don't know how Makki takes it up the ass, I was absolutely just scandalised, but he was actually pretty fierce about not letting me fuck him. I thought about pulling rank on him for a moment, because really, he's just the son of a duke and I'm practically the king already, and I could tell that the slave had a really nice ass, but in the end Father came in and we had to leave." Oikawa says it as if it were the climax of the story, when really it's an anticlimax.

Iwaizumi just hums in response. He fastens the band of the headdress around Oikawa's forehead and steps back, feeling the distance between them as a tangible line of tension. Oikawa feels him pull away, and turns, touching the soft fabric of the robe unconsciously. "Iwa-chan," he says, almost dreamily, as if he doesn't really know what he's saying, "I've made up my mind. I want that little orange-haired slave from the last batch. He had a feisty look in his eyes I liked."

Iwaizumi remembers the slave Oikawa's talking about, and he feels a nasty twisting feeling in his chest. He's talking about the one with the big orange-brown eyes, with the fiery hair that stuck up in at least five different places, with the tender untouched skin and innocent, naive aura. He had been one of the few slaves who hadn't been crying their eyes out or cowering in a corner, and Iwaizumi remembers admiring his strength, his courage, that indefatigable look in his eyes as he had looked Iwaizumi straight in his. Now Iwaizumi just feels sick, thinking about Oikawa and that poor helpless  _innocent_ slave, barely a man, hardly a child, thinking about Oikawa's long slim fingers carving bruises into that white unmarked skin and teasing colour into pale red lips. But it is his not to reason why, his but to do or die; so he bows, and steps out of the chamber to deliver his message to the kitchens, where the slave is kept working.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends, find me on [tumblr](http://kitcatkandy.tumblr.com/) and send me whatever


	2. Hinata - Currying Favour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes I finally crossed the border and into 8,000 word-chapter hell... there is major dubcon in this chapter, mainly because Oikawa is being a selfish jerk (when is he never?) but then again, what else can you expect from an Arabian AU :D

Hinata doesn't remember his parents. 

The only life he's ever known is the life of hardship, of stone-cold rice gruel, of back-breaking days spent endlessly trundling through the desert in camel-pulled caravans. It's a tough life he's led, growing up amongst polyamorous nomads who saw affection and love as a luxury rather than a gift. He knew this truth the moment he opened his eyes as a newborn child and the gaze he met was the cold, steely one of his nurse-to-be. 

Out in the harshness of the desert, Hinata's tribe considered children a necessary evil. Necessary to populate and carry on the legacy of the tribe, but nevertheless a sorely-unwelcome trial for female members of the clan. Strong children who howled their lungs out as they took their first breaths were appreciated as future warriors; others, like Hinata, were looked upon with barely-disguised contempt and derision. For Hinata had not uttered a syllable nor a cry of want from the moment of his birth - he had simply opened his large, comic eyes in a stare of wonder at the glorious world which had burst into colour around him. 

That was not to say that he was quiet, or even introverted, in any way; he could match words with any nomad his age. No, what the tribe had grown to dislike about him most was his extraordinary smallness of stature. He had a big head but an average brain, thin bony limbs it took more to fill than it seemed, and large fiery eyes which no one could meet. It seemed that all the tribe feared his honest, open gaze, the gaze of a man. 

So it was to no one's surprise - no, not even his own - that, when he and a nurse had been trotting aimlessly through a desert town marketplace, and a man with a knife had torn his hand from her grip and run, she had done nothing but stare blankly after him with dullness in her eyes and slack in her fingers. She had not even tried to hold on. 

It turned out that the man was a slaver, on his way to the king's palace, and he had thought Hinata's large, golden boy-man eyes a useful treasure. So he had stolen him from the tribe, taken him into a dusty old caravan with five other boys his age, and rattled along the rocky desert roads to the capital. It had been a miserable five days, he recalls; the other boys had shuddered at every bump in the road. One of them had even vomited at the overwhelming smell of camels and sweat and mindless fear in the caravan. Hinata had tried to make conversation, ask them where they came from and how they'd been caught, but they had just stared at him with panic in their eyes and ghostly whispers on their lips, and he had wondered if they were even actually alive. 

Because how could they be alive if they didn't want to fight, to continue forging on, to cling on desperately to life? 

Hinata admits to having been disgusted by their cowardice and lack of spirit. He himself had bitten and spat at the slaver with no lack of zest (even though he hadn't really wanted to go back home) while the others just cowered and raised their hands to defer blame. He had taken the beatings willingly, standing strong and tall (or at least as tall as his puny stature allowed) till the very end. And he had been proud of what he had, then, called courage. 

Now, he knows it only as stupidity; _this_ is true courage. 

He recognises pity when he sees it, when he sees it in the dark hooded eyes of the royal guard sent to fetch him. He knows who this is - Iwaizumi, the crown prince's own bodyguard and childhood friend, he's heard the whispers - and he doesn't know what to think. Because, of course, he's heard that the best way out is to curry the favour of the prince and beg a boon to be set free, and he has wanted that opportunity for so long, but at the same time he doesn't quite know what it means to curry favour, and the maids can't - or won't - tell him. Not knowing something scares him, actually, more than he'd like to admit.   
"This is Iwaizumi-san," Asahi, the head chef, says, and he pulls Hinata's collar down to make sure they bow in sync. Asahi has always been pleasant to him, offering him tips and tricks on how to cut onions without crying, on how to package the spices so they don't lose their flavour, and on other various aspects of kitchen life that have been essential to his survival here. Behind his tough, intimidating demeanour, however, is a very timid man; he has always been content to remain a nameless slave, concealed in the kitchens, never to return home. 

But Hinata had once asked him about his family, and he had replied simply: "I have none." Perhaps, Hinata reflects now, it is those who have the littlest who thrive in the emptiness of serving in the palace.   
He is jerked back to reality by the harsh cadence of Iwaizumi's voice. 

"You have been ordered to the bedchambers of the crown prince," he says, and Hinata almost misses the stiffness in his voice. "Pack your things - I must escort you to your room in the inner palace by midnight." He pauses here - he must have seen something in Hinata's gaze, perhaps the momentary flicker of unease that had lit up his eyes for a split second, because then his own eyes abruptly soften, and he murmurs, "It - It is a great honour to serve the prince, you know." Then, he turns and sweeps out of the room as quickly as he came. 

"Hinata!" Asahi says, a huge smile on his face. "This is fantastic! You've managed to earn the favour of the crown prince himself! If you do well enough, perhaps you'll even earn a boon and get yourself out of here!" The excitement in his voice is palpable, but at the same time there is a strange thread of unease behind his words that Hinata can detect, but just barely. Hinata frowns.

"What does earning the prince's favour mean, Asahi-san?" he asks, pointedly, because Asahi has never given him a straight answer, instead blushing and fumbling and turning away, but now he absolutely needs to know, and perhaps Asahi will stop skirting around him and actually tell him something _useful_.

No luck there. Asahi's ears turn bright red, and he drops the fork in his hand. It clatters to the table-top with a loud clang of protest, rending the awkward silence between them and making the larger man jump in surprise. He avoids Hinata's eyes, turning back to the chopping board, and the only reply Hinata gets is a barely-audible, mumbled "You'll find out when you get there."

And that's all Hinata has to be satisfied with for the time being, because really, he doesn't know what he's feeling about this situation - he's excited, of course, to be given the chance to enter the inner palace, its luxury of which he's heard many tales, but at the same time he remembers the thread of unease in Asahi's voice, and he is suddenly afraid. 

***

Later, Iwaizumi comes for him in the servants' quarters. He has already packed what meagre possessions he has into a leather bag smelling of curry which Asahi had hurriedly pushed into his hands at the last moment, labelling it a parting gift and waving goodbye with suspiciously shiny eyes. He has practically nothing, just a torn scrap of parchment he found on the palace floor one day and a metal bangle he found in a bale of straw. He cannot read the words on the parchment scrap - he cannot read, period - but the words on it have been written in such exquisite script that he just couldn't bear to throw it away. Sometimes, when he is feeling bored, he copies the runes on the paper into chicken-scrawl doodles on the wall with a charcoal pen, and tries to imagine that he actually understands the words he is writing.

First, Iwaizumi brings him to the royal baths. On the way there, Hinata is practically bouncing on his heels with excitement every step of the way, shooting endlessly questions at Iwaizumi about inner palace life, what goes on every day, and what food they have for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Iwaizumi tends to be standoffish and stiff, but after the constant bombardment, he finally exclaims, "Do you never shut up?" with an amused puff of air, and Hinata knows he's won half the battle. 

He darts sly glances out of the corner of his eye towards Iwaizumi. The remarkable thing about him, really, is how many clothes he's wearing; a thick, woolen cloak, long opaque pantaloons, and even a cloth tied securely at his neck. Hinata almost wants to ask, but somehow he doesn't like to. He suddenly realises that Iwaizumi is, in fact, an extremely handsome man, and the fact makes him shiver a little with shyness. With his long, ruffled black hair sticking up in spikes, his strong straight jaw, and the clear line of his rippling muscles under that multitude of clothes, Hinata wonders what he is doing yet unmarried. 

Inside the baths, he goes through a wholly uncomfortable experience. He is soaped and bathed thoroughly by a pair of giggling maids barely younger than he is, and sweet-smelling oils are rubbed into his skin after they towel him off. A comb is tugged determinedly through the angry curls of his hair - he had never bothered to comb his hair even after he had left the tribe and entered the relative luxury of the palace - and he pulls on the pantaloons they lay out for him. However, he wears the top they proffer with a mounting sense of foreboding; it is semi-transparent and made out of a strange, filmy gauze which exposes much and leaves nothing to the imagination. When he peers confusedly into the mirror one of the maids offers him, he starts in shock - before him stands a stranger, with slick, smooth white skin, kohl-lined eyes and two pale pink nipples peeking out from the fabric of his shirt. He flushes, and pulls at the top, but the maid squawks impatiently and brushes his hand away. Any further attempts to adjust the skimpy clothing are met with further opposition, and he finally gives up, resigning himself to feeling the wind blow in places it shouldn't be blowing for the rest of the foreseeable future. 

When the maids leave, Iwaizumi comes through the door, behind which he had been waiting, and scrutinises Hinata from top to toe. He is apparently satisfied with what he sees, but Hinata does not miss the way his jaw clenches again, and how his fingernails dig deep crescents into the tender skin of his palm. 

He nods curtly, beckoning to Hinata gruffly. "You'll do," he says, and then, seeing the apprehension written clearly on Hinata's face, makes a visible effort to soften the tones of his voice. "You look... nice," he finally admitted. "I can understand what the prince sees in you."

Hinata knows practically nothing about the mysterious prince, except that he really doesn't like paprika and that anyone who puts too much garlic in his chicken will be executed. Or at least, that's what Asahi has told him - he doesn't know if the big man was trying to scare him with exaggerated tales, or not. Now, he asks Iwaizumi about the prince, figuring that if he's going to try and curry favour, he'd better know something about the man he's trying to curry favour with. 

Iwaizumi flinches as if he has been struck. He doesn't say anything for a while, hesitating as if there are words on his lips he does not want to say, but at last he replies, with a measured tone, "He is a good man, if a little spoiled. You need not worry that you will be treated well."

What was it with the people in this palace? Was information to be paid for, that they refused to answer any of his questions and left him to fend for his own? 

Hinata has to be content with that sketchy answer, but there is something he absolutely needs to know. He will squeeze it out of Iwaizumi no matter what, because he's tired of not knowing, of standing stupidly while maids giggle at his naïveté and point fingers at him. 

"Iwaizumi-san," he asks, and his voice is firm, "what does it mean to curry favour with the prince?"

Iwaizumi starts, turning slowly to stare at him. There is marked disbelief on his face. "You do not understand what currying favour entails?" he says, blinking like a nocturnal owl suddenly exposed to light. "I know they did not give the male slaves inauguration in the bedroom arts, but such lack of knowledge is surprising in one so old as you are."

Bedroom arts? Perhaps the prince wishes him to paint a picture of him in his bedroom. If so, he will be sorely disappointed. 

"I cannot paint," Hinata blurted out, with a mixture of shame, disappointment and yes, even relief. 

Iwaizumi stared at him for a few moments, then he burst out into a harsh bark of laughter. "No, no," he says with a weary smile, "I do not refer to those kinds of arts. What I mean is sexual intercourse. Do you know what that means?"

Hinata has never heard those words before, and he shakes his head, eyes round and interested. 

Iwaizumi runs a hand through his ruffled blackboard, sighing in exasperation. "Gods above," he muttered, almost as if to himself. "And Oikawa wishes to take this child to bed..."

" _I am not a child_ ," Hinata said quietly, and he turns his large moon-eyes to Iwaizumi's, because really, with the things he's been through traveling with the tribe, no one has the right to call him that.   
Iwaizumi meets his eyes, and something unrecognisable shifts in his own. His lips twist, and suddenly looks away. He speaks clinically, professionally, with a detached tone of voice, as if to distance himself from Hinata: "Sexual intercourse is the act of creating a child between a man and a woman, when the man places his penis inside the woman's vagina and ejaculates. Do you know what those words mean?"

Of course Hinata knows what he means, he's looked at his own crotch before and asked his maid what those weird dangling bits were, and there had been one time he'd walked in on a coupling pair in the tribe... Oh, so that was what they had been doing. He had thought them to be wrestling, and had even asked if he could join. 

Remembering the memory, his face flushes a deep beetroot red, and he ducks his head in embarrassment. Then he realises something. 

"If this is an act between a man and a woman, then what does the prince need me for?" he queried. "Does he need assistance in placing his penis in the woman's vagina?"

"Gods, no," Iwaizumi said, with a brief, tight smile. "You see, sometimes sexual intercourse is conducted solely for the pleasure it brings, not for any childbearing purposes, and in that case... Sometimes it might feel better between two men."

Hinata blinks, wondering what this 'pleasure' entails, and if he will feel it too. A wave of apprehension and what might even be anticipation rolls up in his chest, and he bites his lip, not knowing of the emotions he is feeling are even appropriate. Then a question comes to mind, and he turns timidly to Iwaizumi, wondering if he'll overstep any boundaries - but, then again, he's never been one to hesitate at propriety. He's seen Iwaizumi's eyes flicker with a momentary softness when he sparks of the prince, and there is a sudden unexpected twinge in his own chest as he wonders what that softness means. 

"Iwaizumi-san, if the prince wishes to couple with a man, why does he not do so with you?" Hinata asks, and the moment he says these words, he knows he's made a grave mistake, touched a nerve somewhere he should not have touched. Iwaizumi's entire body stiffens, and he draws himself to his full height, a full head above Hinata. When he speaks, it is quiet and restrained, with no emotion whatsoever. 

"I do not serve the prince in that capacity," he says flatly. "I would thank you if you did not ask any further questions."

And that is that - Hinata knows he's overstepped an invisible boundary, and they walk the rest of the way in an uncomfortable silence. 

*** 

They soon reach a large, ornate door plated with gold leaf and multiple large shining rubies. Hinata surreptitiously knocks them with his fingers - they are real, all right, and so large and shiny that he cannot believe his eyes. 

But the rubies are simply a precursor to what lies past that door. When Iwaizumi wrenches them open with immense force and shuttles Hinata in, Hinata's jaw drops - inside is a scene of paradise. 

The ceiling of the room is high, and Hinata cranes his neck, trying to make out the scene painted gaudily on the arches of the ceiling. It is a battle scene of some kind, with camels rearing high and men clashing swords and other animals he cannot name, in the thick of battle. The entire scene is infused with a deep, rich colour, and it takes away Hinata's breath for a moment. 

Past the room itself there is a long corridor with many doors leading to inner chambers, and he assumes that this is where he will sleep. He glimpses a faerie-like creature dance off into the distance, flitting behind one of the pillars at the ending the corridor, and he wonders if he is dreaming. 

The women are the real center-piece of the room - each one of them is tiny, barely taller than Hinata, except for the few who are of the most extraordinary beauty, although every single one of them has been granted great fairness of face. Multiple women are draped across sofas, staring out of windows and regarding themselves lazily in jewel-encrusted mirrors. There are some with long, curling locks of chestnut hair, some with luminescent pale skin, and some with swaying, seductive voluptuous figures that draw the eye to their soft curves.

He has never before seen such extravagance, such heedless luxury, and he thinks that this must be nirvana. 

Iwaizumi, meanwhile, is oblivious to the charms of the women, although they jump up alertly at his presence and watch him with dark, hooded, lazy eyes. He waves them away impatiently, and some of them slink off in disappointment. Instead, Iwaizumi beckons over the tallest woman, who has been sitting in a corner reading a book. She unfolds her length leisurely, walking towards them with hips swaying, and really, Hinata has never before seen a woman so beautiful. 

"Kiyoko-san," Iwaizumi says, and Hinata starts at the raw respect in his voice, "this is the prince's latest trinket. Ensure that he is ready for his bed by tomorrow eve. The prince is eager to have a taste." Then, he hesitated, and lowers his voice, but Hinata can still hear his words. "Teach him your craft well," he murmurs. "He knows absolutely nothing of what will come, he is barely more than a child. Prepare him for the worst - you, of all people, know what our prince is like."

Kiyoko's entire body stiffens, drawing taut, but her dark eyes under her veil are unreadable. She nods, and bows. "Consider it done," she says softly, and Hinata marvels at the musical cadence of her voice. "I will take good care of him, you need not worry."

Iwaizumi nods in satisfaction, and retreats hastily out of the room. 

The scent pervading the room is overly sweet, a tangy odour that makes Hinata want to sneeze. Kiyoko herself wears a queer, unique perfume, that of lilacs and lavender and bittersweet incense, and Hinata immediately thinks of quiet nights stargazing outside the caravan, just he and some sleepy camels alone under the stars. 

She looks him over carefully, and seems not to like what she sees, because her lips tighten up just a fraction and her elegant brows draw together just an inch. Hinata stands up a little straighter, wondering where he could have possibly gone wrong. 

A woman lying on the floor next to them with her legs on a silken couch and one hand adorned with multiple pearls dangling in the air suddenly leaps to her feet, startling him, and he jumps almost a foot into the air. 

"This child won't last a day in here," she screeches, her voice sharp. "He will not be able to bear the love of the prince, no he will not, he will not steal the favour of the prince so easily, not what we have been working so hard to gain these past few _days,_ _months, years, for decades_ trying to earn the _freedom_ to leave -" Her fingers, long, white, claw-like fingers, stretch out unseeingly towards Hinata, grasping, groping, and there is something obscene about the way they move. Hinata thinks of the giant, naked worms he saw once, wriggling off into the dust, and he takes a quick, shaking step back. 

" _Stop it, Madoka_ ," Kiyoko says sharply, one strong hand reaching out and gripping the woman's wrist. "Get to your bedroom at once and wait for the prince to call you. You might be his favourite now, but everything is replaceable. Remember that. You have no right to reproach this innocent child if you lose the position you have."

Madoka scowls, but wanders off obediently into one of the room. Now Hinata realises that there has been an undercurrent of resentment running through the room; he sees it in the resentful stares of the women and the way they turn from him as if in dismissal. Abruptly, for the first time in his life, Hinata feels like crying, and he blinks the tears away furiously. Most of his anticipation has already been doused by the less-than-pleasant welcome, and now he just feels confused, and very, very tired. 

Then he feels a hand ruffling his hair gently, and he sees Kiyoko smile down at him. He has to pause in wonder for a moment at the sight. 

“Heed them not,” she says softly. “They are simply jealous of what you have that they no longer do - youth, beauty, innocence...”

"K-Kiyoko-san," he asks, and his voice trembles slightly, "what did Iwaizumi-san mean when he said 'the worst'?"

Kiyoko's eyes darken, and she takes his hand. Her fingers unfurl over his soft pale skin, the throbbing veins barely visible under that thin covering, and Hinata feels her fingers quiver against his. He shudders, too, for her fingers are icy cold. 

"The prince can be selfish," she murmurs, and again she makes music with her voice. "He takes what he wants, when he wants it, how it wants it, without a care for the safety nor the pleasure of his slaves... It is not a nirvana you have entered, but a hell." 

***

Hinata will always remember those two days as a scene out of a dream - fleeting, tinged with both pleasure and pain, and sometimes he wonders if he had dreamed it all. 

Kiyoko brings him to her inner chamber, and she prepares him with her fingers, along with a multitude of strangely shaped objects he has never seen before. She explains that he needs to be ready, because the prince will not take the time to loosen him with his fingers or engage in any foreplay on his part. And she then proceeds to do... things to his body, things he has never before imagined, things that make him cry out in pleasure-pain and beg for release. The first time she lets him come at his leisure, but after that she urges him to hold on, tells him to wait, because sometimes, when the prince is in a bad mood, he doesn't like his slaves coming before he does. 

At the end of the two days, when the sun has set, Kiyoko finally releases him from his shackles and sets about tenderly bathing his skin with warm water. She washes away the marks of his incarceration, gently cleans his unmentionables, and dresses him in the same clothes he had worn the previous day. Now, he looks as pristine as ever, albeit with his hair a little messier and his skin a little rosier, but Kiyoko nods in satisfaction and sits back to view her handiwork. A moment passes, then she smiles, softly, bittersweet. 

“I see what the prince sees,” she murmurs. “There is an unquenchable fire in your eyes, one that shows your will to fight... Unfortunately, it is also the kind of passion that a man like our prince will enjoy putting out.”

A knock on the door resounds through the hallways, and it seems as if time freezes. They are in the main room, now, Kiyoko calmly weaving at her loom, Hinata lying on a couch and staring at the ceiling. The women are flitting about as usual, conversing in muted whispers, occasionally darting a spiteful glance at Hinata as they skitter past. But the moment the knock sounds, everyone stops moving, and their heads turn as one to the door. 

Hinata sees Madoka take a single, involuntary step towards the door, but then Kiyoko rises to her full height, putting out a hand to arrest her movements. " _It is not for you_ ," she utters softly, the words as dangerous as the purr of a leopard. "Sit down, and do not move from your seat."

Iwaizumi comes in, pushing the doors open with his characteristic heavy-handedness, and he looks around the room. His eyes alight on Hinata, and they become, if it be even possible, more forbidding. There is no other change in his expression, except for a slight sardonic twist at the corner of his mouth. 

"I have come for Hinata," he rumbles, beckoning. "The prince calls for you. He is much excited to partake tonight." At this, he exchanges a meaningful look with Kiyoko, and she breathes in sharply. 

Hinata feels a light push on the small of his back, and he stumbles forward a few steps. Returning to his senses, he walked unsteadily towards Iwaizumi, out the door, into the corridor, leaving the malevolent glares of the slaves within. The two of them traverse the corridor, and Hinata chances a glance at Iwaizumi's face. Now he is expressionless, his eyes fixed on some point far away, and Hinata notices how they flash green like a cat's.

***

They reach the ornate door of the crown prince's bedroom, and this time Hinata is not shocked at its lavishness. There is a guard standing next to the door, a young, fresh-faced boy with hair that stands straight up like a turnip. He bows to the two of them, and Hinata resists the urge to touch that quiff as it comes close to his chest. 

Iwaizumi looks at him, and abruptly his face softens. "Are you ready?" he asks, and his tone is gentle.   
Hinata nods, and the little devil in him prompts him to reply, "Are you?"

Iwaizumi's face ossifies, and he lifts a hand as if to strike, or to grip his shoulders and shake him, but suddenly he closes his palm and shakes his head mutely. "No," he mumbles, as if to himself. "How can I ever be ready?" And with that, he turns away to fling the door open and guides Hinata in. 

“Iwa-chan!” comes the cry, as if already prepared in readiness for their arrival. Hinata starts in shock as he hears the quality of the voice - light, playful, infused with a slight tinge of mischief. He is even more stunned as he enters the chamber itself and sees the prince lounging carelessly on the huge bed in the middle of the room. 

He is tall, with beautiful brown hair that curls towards the base of his skull and springs up messily from the top of his head. Hinata follows the line of his cheekbones, to the long feathery lashes and the thin, pointed nose, to the sharp chin and angular jaw. He has his eyes closed, and his entire appearance is that of a beautiful, benevolent god waiting for a behest from his subjects. 

Then he opens his eyes, and Hinata shudders. They are chocolate-brown, the pupils beautiful and blown-wide like glass, but underlying it all he senses a cold, calculating tension, as if he were assessing him, reading his body, watching his every movement. These emotions flash through his eyes, sending shivers down Hinata's sound, but then he blinks, and the illusion is gone. Left in its place is a slightly vacant, stupid stare, which he directs straight at Iwaizumi with a lopsided smile on those full red lips. 

Hinata sees one pale arm peek out of the mountain of furs under which he is buried, and he realises that the prince is naked. 

"Iwa-chan," he whines, again. "Iwa-chan ~ I think I'm stuck ~"

"Shittykawa," Iwaizumi grumbles, but he reaches in and grips tight to that white, extended palm, pulling the prince out of the morass of sheets. 

Hinata gasps. He actually gasps, because he has never seen a body as beautiful as the prince's before. His skin seems to glow in the muted light of the bedroom lamp, and Hinata can see his muscles and tendons ripple healthily as he moves, sleek and lazy like a well-fed panther. The line of his abdomen is straight, strong, all the way down to that dark patch of hair, and then... he _is_ naked, Hinata notes, almost in a daze, and averts his eyes as the prince emerges from his cocoon. 

He yawns, stretching his hands above his head in an elegant, careless gesture, and steps forward towards Hinata. His head is cocked on one side, and he studies Hinata attentively, flicking over the pink points of his nipples, the rosiness of his lips, the fire-red glitter of his hair. Then he smiles, a lazy, satisfied smile, and licks his lips. Hinata watches that small, pink tongue dart around the full, pouting lips, even as he reaches out a hand to ruffle the locks of Hinata's hair. 

"He is even more beautiful than when I saw him last," the prince drawls. "What is your name, slave?"

"Hinata," he says, boldly, looking straight into those cold brown eyes without restraint. "Hinata Shouyou."

The prince raises an eyebrow at his audacity, and Hinata's heart drops as he remembers Asahi telling him not to look royalty in the eye. There is a silence infused with tension for a bare moment. Then the prince laughs, a delightful, ringing sound which echoes round the room and has the immediately effect of making Hinata relax. 

"This one is feisty!" he exclaims, the corners of his lips twisting upwards with mirth. "I like him. I like him very much. I think we'll have a lot of fun together, don't you, Iwa-chan?"

Iwaizumi does not reply, his only reaction being a slight tightening off his lips, and a little movement of the head as he glances away, as if in defiance. The prince studies him for a moment, and Hinata sees disappointment flash across his eyes. He clucks his tongue, and turns back to Hinata. The hand that was in his hair slowly trails down to Hinata's cheeks, caressing it gently, leaving trails of fire in its wake. Suddenly, Hinata is afraid, because he feels the hidden power behind that touch, the latent energy behind that seemingly-inert facade, and he finally understands the fear in Kiyoko's eyes. 

"You may call me Oikawa, Hinata," the prince says, with the teasing smile back on his face. "I always treat my slaves like my friends, as all the world knows, and I would have you address me as you would a friend. Pray be seated; we need not stand on ceremony." 

Hinata recognises this as the hidden cue he expects, and obediently divests himself of his robes. Already, he has started to sweat from the stuffy atmosphere of the room, and the liquid glistens like a second skin. He is not shy to stand bare and naked before another man - or so he had thought, because now a light blush suddenly covers his face, and he turns his head slightly to avoid the piercing eyes of the prince.

Oikawa is staring at his body in an almost-obscene fashion, his eyes running appreciatively over the youthful curves of Hinata's body, the untouched, unmarred flesh of his abdomen, all the way down to his limp, uncut cock. He flings himself back onto the bed, and beckons with one lazy, languid figure for Hinata to come forth. 

"Touch me," he breathes, the words soft and coaxing. Hinata obediently takes Oikawa's cock in his hand and starts pumping, as Kiyoko has taught him to do. He pays special attention to the underside of the shaft, knowing that area to be particularly sensitive for Oikawa, and is rewarded by a gentle moan issuing from the prince's mouth. Oikawa's cock begins to stiffen, slightly, and Hinata feels his own begin to rise in response to the erotic noise. 

Suddenly, he remembers the presence of Iwaizumi in the room, and his grip falters, even as he involuntarily turns his head to look at the man in concern. Although he immediately turns his attention back to the prince's cock, Oikawa has noticed his momentary glance, and his eyes dart accordingly to the stoic figure standing stubbornly in the corner. 

"Yes, Iwa-chan won't do anything but watch," Oikawa calls out, as if in response to a question Hinata has asked, but in truth, the words are as much a taunt as they are an answer to Hinata's unspoken question. “Such a spoilsport, aren't you, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi says nothing, again, but Hinata can somehow sense the anger crackling on his skin, infusing the room with further tension, and he hurriedly resumes his cock-sucking with greater fervour, hoping to draw the prince's attention away and distract him from sensing Iwaizumi's fury. He scrapes his fingernails lightly across the swollen crown, and Oikawa lets his head fall back, a loud, wanton moan issuing from his lips. He suddenly grabs hold of Hinata's hair and forces him down onto his cock. Hinata chokes on the thick length in his mouth, but manages to suppress his gag reflex and continues obediently sucking. The flavour is bitter, sultry, not at all to his liking, and dimly he wonders if all cocks taste this bad. 

A series of more moans and groans fill the air as Oikawa continues ruthlessly pressing Hinata's head down on his cock, even bucking occasionally when Hinata's tongue brushes across his sensitive foreskin. The sounds he makes are loud, exaggerated, almost theatrical, and Hinata wonders why he is being so dramatic. 

Suddenly, without warning or a word of precaution, Oikawa vaults upright, yanking Hinata's head off his cock in one, swift movement. Hinata chokes at the sudden abuse, and his mouth gapes open obscenely, letting a little pre-cum trickle past his lips. Oikawa hungrily watches that light trail of viscous fluid make its slow way down Hinata's throat, and his pupils dilate. 

"I thought I could go slow today, wait till tomorrow before taking your virginity," he breathes, and his eyes are alight with a strange, incalculable fire, “but I need to touch you now. Get on your knees.” There is no doubt whatsoever that this is a command, and Hinata obeys, crawling to his feet and bending over, presenting his ass for inspection. He flushes, realising how revealing this position is, but keeps still obediently and waits for Oikawa to make a move. 

Nothing happens for a moment, in which Hinata cannot breathe and everything hangs on a balance and _goddammit can he just move_ , but then he feels a whisper of a touch on the fleshy part of his buttocks. Oikawa caresses his skin almost reverently, roving across the plain of his buttocks, stroking gently with his surprisingly-soft fingers. The touches are whisper-soft, barely-there, and that's what makes the slap so painful. 

Oikawa brings his hand down with a hard 'thwack!' onto Hinata's buttocks, exactly where he had been caressing before, and Hinata cries out, more from the shock at first than from the pain. But then a second later the stinging sensation settles in, burning him down to his very core, shooting straight to his cock, and Hinata suppresses another cry, this time of pain, his fingers digging deeper into the mattress. 

"Naughty, naughty," Oikawa breathes into his ear, low and husky, sending a shiver that is not altogether pleasant down Hinata's spine. "Make another sound, and I'll whip you so hard you won't be able to stand for a week."

The second slap comes again, much harder and faster, but this time Hinata is already prepared for it, and he bites down hard on his tongue. He can taste the better, rusty tang of blood coating his teeth, but he squeezes his eyes shut and stiffens quietly as the pain settles in. 

Oikawa finds his rhythm soon, alternating sporadically between harder and softer slaps, sometimes following up with a smooth caress over his stinging buttocks, sometimes sliding his hand underneath to caress Hinata's aching balls. This continues for the next few minutes, and Hinata can hear Oikawa's breathing getting heavier, until he finally shifts, the blankets rustling audibly as he gets up. Hinata turns to look, but it was a mistake - Oikawa rears up, and slams fiercely into him with no preparation whatsoever.

Hinata drives his head into the blanket to muffle the howl of anguish that slips out past his lips, as he feels his anus stretch and almost tear at the foreign invader. Oikawa begins to move, now, thrusting hard and fast and relentless. Hinata forces himself to relax, clenching and releasing rhythmically as Kiyoko has taught him to do, so as to quicken the prince's release. The pain is a blinding haze over his eyes, and he feels his faculties shut down, as his entire world narrows down to the large object thrusting brutally into his body and the endless, undeniable burning in his anus. 

Oikawa comes with a triumphant yell, gripping Hinata's waist so hard that he feels himself bruise, and shuddering against Hinata's skin. He rakes his teeth over Hinata's back as he rides out the waves of his orgasm, and Hinata bites his lip in disgust as he feels a strange sticky sensation filling his stomach. 

When Oikawa pulls out of him with a wet ‘pop’, Hinata feels so much relief that he practically collapses face-first into the soft, heavenly-smelling mattress. There is a crick in his neck, and an ache in his hips, but worst of all is the creeping sensation of having been violated, of having been taken against his will - Hinata swallows, and his mouth tastes foul and acrid. His cock is swollen and leaking - Oikawa has not seen fit to repay the pleasure given him, but right now Hinata is feeling too disgusted to even think of touching himself in this hot, stuffy, terrible room where he has just lost his virginity. He crawls off the bed slowly in exhaustion, almost tumbling onto the floor were it not for the support Iwaizumi's strong arms give him. 

He looks weakly up at Iwaizumi's face, and flinches a little at the dark, forbidding cloud which has descended on his brows. His strong fingers grip Hinata's arm and haul him up firmly, setting him down on his feet. In a flash, Iwaizumi has pulled a cloth robe over his head, placed his shed clothes in his arms, and ushering him to the door. He pauses for a moment at the door, scrutinising Hinata's body carefully, and Hinata does not miss the way his jaw hardens, and his eyes darken. 

"Kindaichi will escort you to your rooms," he murmurs, opening the doors gently and bringing Hinata out. Hinata blinks at the sudden brightness of the little hallway in comparison with the dim ambience of the prince's chamber. He hesitates, looking back into the room, where he can still glimpse Oikawa behind the curtains, lying prostrate on the mattress with his eyes closed. 

"And what of you?" Hinata asks, looking at Iwaizumi, wondering why his eyes are so filled with fury. He does not know why he has asked such a personal, intimate question, but something in the twisted curve of Iwaizumi's mouth makes him do it, makes him push Iwaizumi to his limits. "What will you do?"

Iwaizumi turns away from him, and his face is shielded by the shade. He does not say anything for a while, and when he does, his voice is low, blank, sending a chill down Hinata's spine. He sounds perfectly calm, and that alone, to Hinata, is scarier than any anger or violence. 

"I must speak to the prince for a while," he says, his hand resting on the doorframe with a quiet ominous tension that makes Hinata shiver. “You need not worry. Return to your chambers, and get a good night's rest.” With that, he slides the door shut, and Hinata is left staring at Kindaichi's wide, open eyes. 

He smiles, uncertainly, wearily, and some of his tiredness must have gotten through to the guard, because he starts and bows hurriedly. "Hinata-san!" he chirps, more out of politeness than any required formality, because really a slave is the lowest of the low, but Hinata appreciates the respect. It is sorely-needed at a time such as this, when he has lost all his dignity and prince, and his insides feel twisted and sore, and _gods above, he's just so fucking tired_. 

He accompanies Kindaichi wordlessly through the halls, the guard nervously glancing at him occasionally and opening his mouth as if to speak, but Hinata thanks the gods that he is, at least, tactful enough to refrain from doing so. They walk in silence for what seems like a long while, although really it has only been a few minutes, and Hinata thinks. He actually thinks, deeply, thoroughly, for the first time in his life. Things have changed for him, changed so drastically that he had hardly believe that, just a bare forty-eight hours before, he had been standing in the kitchen chatting with Asahi. He tries to remember the feel of the wooden chopping board beneath his fingers, the comforting creak of the storage cupboards, the gentle musty smell of the spices that always used to make him sneeze, but now he can only recall the sensation of a hand descending on his soft flesh, and the taste of blood on his tongue. His blood, no one else's, and suddenly he wants to vomit. 

He is suddenly jerked out of his reverie as Kindaichi screeches to a halt in front of him. Hinata has not being paying attention to where they have been going, having been caught up in his own thoughts, but now he looks up, bewildered, to discern the reason for this sudden stoppage. He finds Kindaichi bowing, stiffly, to a tall, dark-haired man who has stopped before them. He is staring unabashedly at Hinata, a thunderous frown on his brow and his eyes blown wide, and Hinata returns his stare almost defiantly. 

"Prince Kageyama!" Kindaichi stutters, and he frantically gestures to Hinata to bow too. But there is a strange fire, a queer angry dislike burning in those half-mast blue eyes, which makes Hinata want to instinctively rebel. He sees a challenge in those eyes, a kind of resigned defiance which sents every nerve in his body afire and makes every hair on his body stand. Aggression surges through his body; selfishly stupidly, he glares back, straight into the hooded, heavy eyes of the prince and refuses to bow. Those clear blue eyes widened, and his eyebrows sink down forbiddingly. 

Kindaichi squeaks, and drops to his knees to bow even further. "Forgive him, Prince Kageyama!" he cries, his head so low it is almost touching the floor. "He is a new addition to the inner palace, and does not yet know the rules - the traditions - the proprieties by which he must abide. Forgive him, my lord!"

Kageyama - as his name seems to be - inhales sharply as he listens to Kindaichi's words. Then his long eyelashes flutter down, shuttering his piercing glare, and he replies, with a low, smooth voice that slides pleasantly over Hinata's ears like silk, "So, he is my brother's newest whore, is he? How strange. I have never heard of my brother taking to bed a man before." His tone is disdainful, imperious, and Hinata recognises the hallmark of a pampered royal which he bears. He feels a prickling sensation grow in his chest, sending an angry flush all the way up to his cheekbones. Who has given this man the right to look down on him, to dismissal him casually, when he had endured so much? When Hinata has just faced torture and violation at the hands of another, his brother? Who has given him the _bloody right_? 

He steps forward fiercely, to do what he does not know, except the fact that he wants to drives his fists into that sarcastic, dismissive face, but Kindaichi seizes hold of his wrist none too gently and yanks him back. "Y-yes, my lord," Kindaichi stammers, and Hinata can do nothing but stare at him in disbelief, "He belongs to Prince Oikawa. You must excuse us, we are needed elsewhere!" With that, he turns tail and scurries off, pulling Hinata after him. The last sight Hinata has of Prince Kageyama is the tall, stoic figure, standing silent and brooding at the end of the hallway and looking after them. 

***  
"I apologise, Hinata-san!" Kindaichi whines, turning appealing eyes to Hinata. He searches Hinata's face for a moment, then his lips pinch inwards in inexpressible inner conflict. "I do apologise for concurring with his derogatory words, but you see, that was the quickest way out of there, and I simply thought - well, I considered it prudent to -"

"I understand," Hinata cut in, interrupting him, and offering him a tense smile as more reassurance. He does glare backwards, however, the memory of those burning blue eyes still fresh in his mind. "Who was he?" he spits, his upper lip curling in disgust. 

Kindaichi muffles a laugh at the expression of utter abhorrence on Hinata's face. "He is Prince Kageyama, Prince Oikawa's younger brother," he explains, looking around nervously as if to check for potential eavesdroppers. There are none, and he turns his attention back to Hinata, leaning in with a conspiratorial whisper. "He is the child of the King's favourite concubine, and thus he is second in line for the throne... Subsequently, he and Oikawa-san hate each other deeply, it seems, and they cannot get along. So it is hardly surprising that he showed you such disdain, is it?"

Hinata knows he is just trying to offer comfort, but the empty burning in the base of his stomach from Oikawa's vicious fucking has been replaced now but a sudden boiling anger, that warms him all the way down to his toes. He feels alive again, rejuvenated, and somehow he wonders if it had something to do with Kageyama. 

Because, no matter how hard he tries, he cannot rid his mind of the image of Kageyama staring after them with an unmistakable hostility flashing in his deep blue eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kageyama finally appears XD also Oikawa is about the only person I can see speaking with a ~ lol. Apologies if the preparation phase wasn't written well, it was really awkward to write ://  
> Also, my [tumblr](http://kitcatkandy.tumblr.com/)  
> Comments and kudos are love!


	3. Kageyama - Family Problems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, it's Kageyama's perspective XD already this story is becoming cliche lol

Love is, and always will be, a foreign concept to Kageyama. 

Already from a young age he had known that he was not wanted. Of course, his mother had doted on him, given him everything he wanted, fulfilled his every desire, but at the same time she had always looked upon him with a cold, calculating glare which he had not understood until recently. Had not understood that the look in her eyes hadn't been love - far from it, in fact. Somehow, he thinks, he's always known, always known that, really, he's nothing but a pawn to her, an unbreakable bond that ties the king to her, the inseparable thread that leashes her to the luxury of the throne. She places the furs around his shoulders to make him look more beautiful, and adorns his wrists with bangles to make him look more kingly - it has nothing to do with any maternal instinct to pamper or preen him. 

He knows this, but already he is used to it, and he no longer shrinks from his mother's touch. The last time he did it, the last time he drew back from her outstretched hand with a whimper of fear - because he had seen the eager vacant stare in her eyes and it had made him _afraid, afraid_ of his own mother - she had hit him, straight across the planes of his cheek, and had told everyone who asked that he had injured himself climbing the willow tree. Everyone should have known this to be an obvious lie, Kageyama thinks bitterly, because there are no willow trees in the palace garden, but because his mother is the king's favourite consort, nobody raises an eyebrow. 

He does not dare to go against his mother again. 

His father is the king, that everyone knows - that he is next in the line for the throne, that he is the child favoured by his father because of his mother's status, but if that is true, Kageyama does not see it. Even when he was barely a babe in arms he never saw his father, only the kind, gentle eyes of Daichi, the man who has been his nurse his entire life. When he and his father meet, they exchange cursory pleasantries, the cliché phrases fluttering on their lips like meaningless pieces of paper, shielding the words Kageyama actually wants to say - _you're my father, why can't I see you more often, why can't you actually try to hold me and see how soft my skin actually is_ \- but he never says these words, and they gather in his chest, weighing down his heart and making his throat close up and suddenly, he finds, he is dodging the royal entourage whenever they enter the inner palace. Occasionally, when they meet at the summer party or when Kageyama isn't fast enough to dart out of the way, the king catches his arm and makes an inane comment like _we don't see each other anymore_ or _we really must speak more often, Tobio_. At these moments, Kageyama really thinks he could commit bloody murder, because all he wants to do is to rip his throat and his eyes and his _bloody fucking mask_ out but the royal guards would likely butcher him if he tried. So he smiles, and answers with another meaningless cliché, and bows politely as the entourage passes - then later Daichi finds him tearing his pillow to pieces, taking out his anger on a pathetic inanimate object which offers no resistance. 

And then, of course, there's Oikawa. Now Oikawa is an utterly different playing field altogether. Oikawa makes him afraid, even more afraid than he is of his mother, with her tempestuous moods and irrational temper, because Oikawa never shows his anger. He taunts and teases and whines, but he never actually reveals his inner thoughts. And that's what makes him _so fucking scary_. He's never been friendly to Kageyama, and at first he had passed it off as a joke - they were brothers, weren't they? Allies against their heedless, uncaring parents? Wasn't that the way brotherhood was supposed to be? For Oikawa, too, had been brought up in a sterile environment. He was the son of the queen consort, and as such was pampered and primped even more than Kageyama had been. It was generally understood that he would be the next to ascend the throne, so he lived separate from Kageyama, and their paths had not crossed much. But he, too, had lacked familial love, the warmth of a loving family, and so Kageyama had automatically assumed that there would be a tacit, unspoken bond between them. How wrong he had been.

He knew this when Oikawa had tried to strike him. 

They had been playing chess together, one of the rare occurrences in which they interacted, watched over benevolently by their father. Kageyama had made some move, an impressive play which Oikawa had not been able to counter, and the king had remarked, "That's my boy, Tobio. You'll make a fine king one day." In the end, he had still lost the match to Oikawa's experience, but the king had ruffled his hair, not Oikawa's, as he had left the room with a promise of another game, another day, and a whispered "Next time, you'll play with me". At that time, he had still been a naive child, believing in his father's praise, and he had been happy.

Then after his father had left, Oikawa had spoken.

"Quite the little pet you are to Father, are you not?" he had said, smiling, but somehow there had been a tightness to his smile, a queer lopsided quality which Kageyama had not understood. Perhaps if he had, he would not have spoken, at that time, at that moment – 

"Will you teach me how to play chess better, brother?"

He had not been prepared for Oikawa to lift his hand and strike, to aim a blow at his face, his own disfigured and contorted in an expression of utter hatred. Iwaizumi, his brother's personal bodyguard, had seized hold of Oikawa's hand before it had a chance to land a blow, and had told him to run.

Thinking of the expression Oikawa always had when they spoke, Kageyama wonders how he could have been so stupid, or so blind.

Now, he recognises hatred in every line of Oikawa's face, a hatred which manifests as snide taunts and subtle digs at his intelligence, or occasional, more direct snubs. After a while, Kageyama learns to ignore these indirect signs, and by this time he has already recognised his own mother's lack of love, so most of his days are spent alone in the gardens or reading in his room. 

That's really why he takes up swordfighting, he tells himself; it is simple because he is bored, yes, and it has nothing to do with the man who offered to teach him. Iwaizumi is tall, and stately, and strong, and he is everything that Kageyama wants to be. Trusted by the king, respected by Oikawa, loved by his fellow royal guards - secretly, Kageyama envies him, but at the same time he admires him for his independence and quiet steadfastness. Iwaizumi is two years older than he is, and has been Oikawa's friend from a young age. When Kageyama was young, he had often trailed quietly behind the two of them, watching as they scaled trees or stole pies from the kitchen or tumbled roughly around the palace courtyard, wishing that he was included, wishing that he was part of that exclusive duo. But wishes seldom do come true, and Kageyama's had never seen fruition. Iwaizumi had always been pleasant, perfectly amiable to him - and of course Oikawa had been as he had always been - but never had Kageyama and Iwaizumi crossed the border from acquaintances to true friends. Not until, at least, Iwaizumi had offered to teach him swordfighting. 

Kageyama is not quite sure what had prompted the sudden offer, but all he knows is that the day after Oikawa had tried to hit him Iwaizumi had come to his quarters and asked him if he knew how to handle a sword. 

No, he had not, and Iwaizumi had offered to teach him. 

Oikawa, surprisingly, had raised no objections to this state of affairs - he was notoriously possessive of his personal guard, and everyone but Iwaizumi himself could see that Oikawa was actually pretty deeply fond of the man - but when he had seen them crossing swords in the courtyard, he had done nothing but pout, and ask to join in after a few minutes of sulking. Kageyama was glad of that, glad of Iwaizumi's sensible presence by his side, for the guard had now become the bridge that linked he and his estranged older brother. 

And now he and Iwaizumi were fighting again, darting and dancing around each other in a flash of sparks and sunlight glancing off hardened blades. Fighting with a sword was a skill rare in Aoba Johsai, for its warriors often preferred the wielding of scimitars or even daggers, for close-range fighting, and to wield an actual sword, with its long flat blade and hard, flashing edges, was something close to an actual miracle for Kageyama. Iwaizumi had taught him how to handle a sword properly, remarking even on his rare talent for the task. They had practised with wooden blades first, until Kageyama was skilled enough to block the oncoming blows, and he longer spent every night nursing painful bruises on his arms and legs. Then, when Iwaizumi had become confident of his skills, they had moved on to actual blades, with bejewelled handles and beautiful shining blades. Occasionally, Kageyama would get cut, but now he wasn't the only one receiving injuries - once, he had landed a blow on Iwaizumi's shoulder, and only the latter's last-minute dodge had prevented the blow from becoming fatal. Kageyama had dropped the sword immediately, thinking that it was all over - that he should have been more careful, _goddammit_ , because he'd almost killed his only friend and now they would have to stop their lessons –

But Iwaizumi had only stared at him with wide eyes, before breaking into a harsh peal of laughter that had been strange, and bright. Kageyama had unconsciously shielded his eyes. 

"That was a good swing," Iwaizumi had said appreciatively. "You'll make a good swordsman yet." Kageyama had beamed at the praise, and the words' warmth stuck with him for days after, even if Oikawa yelled at him for scarring Iwaizumi's _precious perfect skin_ and his mother told him that he should _stop associating with the servants_. He had wanted to hit them, both of them, for their callous words - because of course he hadn't meant to hurt Iwaizumi, and _he wasn't just some fucking servant_ , but the memory of Iwaizumi's smile had given him the courage to ignore them and carry on with his lessons. 

Now, they are not so much lessons as bonding sessions. Kageyama can actually wield a sword now, can actually swing it in a deadly arc under Iwaizumi's guard and still have enough presence of mind to tap his opponent lightly on the shoulder, and theirs is a graceful, simple clash. He sees the jealousy in Oikawa's face whenever he watches their matches, jealousy he dares not express in the royal guard's presence, but he almost always pouts and stalks over to seize a sword too. 

Oikawa can fight with a sword too, and at such times Kageyama prefers to watch, instead of take him on directly - prefers to watch the two childhood friends leap and soar about each other in elegant pirouettes as they stab and slash, each blow never reaching its target, each blow blocked swiftly. Oikawa's form is perfect, stunningly elegant, and so is Iwaizumi's. They know each other so well that they cannot hope to pass each other's guard, and the clang of their swords against each other rings out with a fresh clamour in the peace of the courtyard. There is grace, _beauty_ in every sleek line of Oikawa's body, and rough, pure power in every line of Iwaizumi's and they are like fire and water, dancing in a never-ending dance of death. 

There is always tension underlying their battles, something that Kageyama failed to recognise when he was younger, but now he is smarter and more experienced, and he knows what it is, now. There is sexual tension underlying their every move, crackling on their skin as they cross blades, and it is tangible. Kageyama can see it when their swords meet and they stare at each other over the tops of their weapons, standing close enough to kiss for barely a standstill before they whirl away and continue their ballet. He can see it when Iwaizumi trails his sword through the fabric of Oikawa's blousy robe, and Oikawa's abdomen clenches. He can see it when they stand back-to-back, exhausted from their fight and resting in an uneasy truce, and the sweat from their bodies mixes together until no one can tell whose is whose. 

It is in this way that Kageyama realises the connection between them, the connection that they cannot see, that they refuse to recognise, and he wonders what it would be to feel that irrevocable connection for himself. 

And he feels it when he sees the little orange-haired slave. 

He is leaving his father's chambers, where he has just had a royal audience, and, as usual, his father's pretense of affection and empty words have left him burning with fury. Anger is crackling through his every iota of flesh, and all he wants now is to return to his chamber and _sleep the day away_ but then he stops and realises that there are two men standing before him, and that one has just squeaked out his name. One looks vaguely familiar, and his garb identifies him as a royal guard. He is bowing, bending almost double, and his high quiff of hair is almost too tempting to resist touching. The other...

The other is not bowing. His face is foreign to Kageyama, and then his eyes travel downwards. He sees the too-large robe the boy is wearing, the sweat-stained gauze clothes in his arms, the faint rosy sheen of his skin that indicates recent sexual intercourse. His lip curls. Of course - this is probably one of his brother's slaves. He has heard of it being possible to engage in sexual intercourse between two men, of course, but he had never thought of actually _trying_ it; apparently, his brother has. This is the first male slave of his brother's he has seen, and of course this boy fits Oikawa's type - tiny, slim yet strong, with well-tamed hair. The only problem is, of course, that he is not bowing. 

Kageyama is royalty, and he has never seen fit to exercise his privileges, to be a tyrant like his father or brother, but somehow when he meets this boy's large, luminous eyes, which stare steadfastedly back at him with a tired defiance that is uncomfortably-familiar to Kageyama, he wants to make this boy squirm and grovel at his feet like the lowly slave he is. He wants to see the boy cower at his feet, broken and begging, and immediately he feels himself unconsciously drawing himself to his full height, intensifying the brutal directness of his glare - yet still the boy does not falter in his gaze. It frustrates Kageyama, somehow, and his fingers clench, carving crescents into his flesh. 

The royal guard has observed his obvious change in demeanour and squawks almost comically. 

"Forgive him, Prince Kageyama!" he cries, his bowing even lower, almost hitting the tiles of the floor. "He is a new addition to the inner palace, and does not yet know the rules - the traditions - the proprieties by which he must abide. Forgive him, my lord!" 

Something dark, repressed, _sadistic_ in Kageyama wants to hurt this child, wants to make eyes flash in glorious, beautiful anger, and so he yields to his based self, yields to the devil sitting on his shoulder. He looks down at the slave, and says, with a studied nonchalance: "So, he is my brother's newest whore, is he? How strange. I have never heard of my brother taking to bed a man before."

The insult has immediate effect. The little slave's eyes widen in surprised rage, then his brows snap down tight and thunderous over his bright, angry eyes. He makes a visible move forward, as if to grip Kageyama, throttle him, punch him, but the royal guard grabs a quick hold of his collar and yanks him back violently. His eyes still burn with irrepressible hatred and fury, and Kageyama knows he should be ashamed of himself, picking on a slave who has just faced the trial of copulation with Oikawa, but somehow he cannot find anything but exhilarating, reckless enjoyment and satisfaction at the disgust in those beautiful orange eyes. 

"Y-yes, my lord," stutters the guard, a flush adorning his youthful, terror-stricken face, but Kageyama only has eyes for the slave, forced to bend in an unwilling now. "He belongs to Prince Oikawa. You must excuse us, we are needed elsewhere!" With that, he seizes hold of the slave's hand and they scurry off past him. Kageyama cannot resist a small, mirthless smile, when he sees the slave turn back one last time to glare at him with those uncanny, burning eyes. 

He turns to his own guard, a man his own age with dark hair parted in the centre pale, fair skin. He opens his mouth to speak, to perhaps ask the name of the slave, but suddenly he meets Kunimi's eyes and sees the sudden, mocking flash within them. Abruptly he is struck dumb with an overwhelming feeling of guilt and shame, and he closes his mouth, choosing instead to slink back to his quarters. 

***

The next time Kageyama sees the slave, it is in the garden, the next day.

He is walking through the corridors, Kunimi a silent shadow at his side, when he sees a flash of orange, discordant in the deep green of the garden. He stops almost automatically, wondering if perhaps a small fire has started, but then he looks closer and he realises that it is a head of hair. 

There is only one person he knows who has hair that shade of vibrant orange. 

An overwhelming sense of guilt threatens to swallow him. He is not a cruel man nor a man who likes to play with others' feelings - he is not his _brother_ , after all - so the words he had spoken to the slave on their first meeting had been uncharacteristically harsh. He regrets those words deeply, knowing that they had been ill-timed and ill-bred, and that they had _hurt_ the slave to the bone. Now, he feels like he should apologise. The feeling is like an itch he cannot scratch, a strange feeling he has never experienced before - because as a prince he has never _needed_ to apologise - but it forces him to approach the slave, and offer words of consolation. 

Slowly, quietly, he stalks forward. The slave is squatting on the floor, absent-mindedly scratching runes into the mud. Kageyama approaches him the way he does to a small animal, who he is afraid might flee at the slightest provocation or intimidation - careful, gentle, soundless. The slave does not hear him until he is too close to escape from. 

"Good morning," he murmurs, his voice low and rough from lack of use. The slave whirls around immediately, his large amber pupils dilated and his mouth curved in a puckered ‘o’. He raises his arms to cover his face, as if in defence, and Kageyama winces at the bruises showing on the pale skin. He knows all too well from whose hands they originate. 

Kageyama squats down next to him, reducing his height and thus some of his intimidating appeal. He looks solemnly at the slave, directly into his eyes, hoping that some of his inner penitence will convey itself to the boy. It works, to a certain extent; he lowers his arms and closes his mouth, but his eyes are still suspicious, and his mouth is still pouting. 

They squat in silence for a while, just staring at each other, and no words are spoken. Kageyama has never been a stellar conversationalist even at the best of times, and it is clear that the boy has no desire to speak with him. After a while, no longer able to bear the sight of those deep, piercing eyes, Kageyama looks down at the runes the slave has scratched on the ground. His eyebrows rise. 

"You wrote these?" he asks, pointing at the clean, beautiful script on the ground. The handwriting is a familiar, if a little informed and cautious, as if its creator had been treating it more as a work of art than actual words to be read. 

The slave bites his lip, his eyes still suspicious, but he nods, a short, sharp, jerking movement. He looks like he has something to say, but is too afraid to voice his inner thoughts; Kageyama wonders if he thinks he needs beg leave to speak to a member of the royal household. 

"You may speak," he huffs, a trace of amusement in his voice. Then an involuntary blush suddenly rises in his cheeks. Why is he being so forward with a mere slave? They squat in silence again, and Kageyama chances a glance at his companion. He is startled to find that the slave is actually _flushing_ , too, a dark pink flush which reaches from his neck to his high cheekbones and suffuses his pale skin. 

"You wrote this?" Kageyama repeats, hopefully. The slave darts a covert glance at him, and looks away again. "Yes," he mumbles, and his fingers twine themselves around each other in an agony of agitation - long, supple, erotic fingers, with short, clean nails and smooth skin. Kageyama's own fingers twitch, and he has to grip the seams of his robe. 

Then suddenly, the slave turns to him, as if making a sudden decision to trust him, and asks, his eyes bright and curious, "Do you know what they mean?"

Kageyama's mouth twists in a sardonic smile. He trails his fingers over the words, reading them off in a monotone which only serves to make them more embarrassing - “ _I love him. I love him so much I cannot breathe, I cannot eat, I cannot so much as look at him before I want to touch him and hold him and spirit him away to somewhere in the mountains where I can have him all to myself -_ ”

The slave claps his hands over his ears, his flush deepening. "Stop!" he cries, and glares at Kageyama. The latter has to resist the urge to laugh. Somehow, riling up this child is a pastime more interesting, more absorbing, more _exhilarating_ than anything he could ever find to entertain himself, and he feels his heart give a painful squeeze. 

"My name is Hinata," the slave says, almost defiantly, as if to challenge him, to rebut the obvious amusement on his face. Kageyama's eyebrows rise, and he absent-mindedly traces the words on the ground. Hinata follows his finger and frowns. "What are you writing?" he says, and Kageyama realises that his voice is the type to be always loud, vibrant, daring, and that only his status in the palace has repressed his boldness. Again, his heart gives a painful squeeze, and he involuntarily wonders what it would be like to hear Hinata's voice ring out in the quiet hallways of the palace. It would breathe life into the deathly-silent corridors, paint the plain white walls with colour, send the stone-still trees into shaking fits of mirth, he is sure, because Hinata's brilliance cannot be contained, cannot be oppressed for long. Kageyama feels like a shadow next to him, a nameless shadow who shrinks in stature next to this child, so full of life and vigour - for Kageyama can sense that it _is_ so - and suddenly, he does not like the feeling. 

"Your name," he replies, almost breathlessly, after a heartbeat, and hates himself for sounding like a shy maiden. He looks back down at the ground, almost missing the way Hinata's eyelids flutter, and the way he stares hungrily down at the pictograms on the ground. 

Again, there is silence, and Kageyama curses himself for being an uncommunicative idiot. It is not that he wants to impress Hinata - no, no, that _cannot_ be the case - but he feels awkward, stiff, and he does not like feeling like this. 

"I apologise for my words yesterday," he blurts out, and suddenly he wishes he had said nothing at all. Hinata's eyes widen, and he lifts his head almost defiantly to meet Kageyama's dark eyes. They keep eye contact for a long while, and it is the most intense thing Kageyama has done for a while. Even the pleasure of matching swords with Iwaizumi cannot compare to this, he realises with a start. 

Hinata pouts, and is the first to break the stare, this time. He glares back down at the ground, and the sight is so childish, so comical, so characteristic, that Kageyama again has to suppress a bark of laughter. How fey he is feeling, how strange; he feels almost giddy, as if he is drunk, and he wants to pursue this conversation, to speak further with this slave who has such a mysterious charisma. 

"'S alright," Hinata mutters, almost unintelligible, but Kageyama catches the words, and suddenly something in his chest lightens, an unspoken burden he has been feeling since the day before. 

He opens his mouth to speak, to say something to perhaps diffuse the tension, but a cough startles him back into awareness of his surroundings; he looks up to meet Kunimi's warning eyes. There is only one meaning to them: _Oikawa approaches_.

Kageyama has no desire to meet his brother and be caught cavorting with the latter's slave, so he rises to his feet, dusts himself off, and meets Hinata's confused stare.   
"My brother approaches," he says abruptly, and Hinata's eyes widen. He scrambles to his feet, running off without a second glance. Kageyama cannot resist heaving a sigh, and he returns slowly to his quarters, feeling, somehow, empty and bereft. 

***

The next day, they visit the dukedom of Seijou. It is the most major fief of Aoba Johsai, governed by the aged Duke Hanamaki and his wife, who everyone knows to be the real power behind the scenes. Recently, Kageyama has heard from his father, there have been rumours brewing there of an uprising, a possible rebellion against the king's tyrannical and oftentimes harsh rule. Kageyama wonders, privately, why his father doesn't see rebooting his manner of ruling and trying to be a better ruler a viable course, instead choosing to root out the possible leaders of the revolution and execute them in as tortuous a way as possible. To him, it seems so simple; listen to the people, understand their problems, make the appropriate changes to the system of governance, and the revolt would be crushed at its psychological roots. Instead, by ruthlessly slaughtering all dissidents - even those not proved guilty by a court of law - his father is slowly but surely alienating the people under his rule, turning them further against him. Perhaps, Kageyama thinks bitterly, it is because he himself has experienced the lack of caring on his father's part, that he is able to empathise with the people. 

They arrive at the Hanamakis' palace with much pomp and splendour. The breadth and length treasury is renowned throughout the entire Middle East, and the king has spared nothing to make sure his entourage lives up to these expectations. Ahead of his sedan litter, Kageyama glimpses Oikawa tumble out of his own, elaborate one, Iwaizumi catching hold of his collar before he falls face-first into the dust. It is understandable that Oikawa is excited, for the Duke's son, Takahiro, is one of his closest friends. But for Kageyama, who has no ties to the house of Hanamaki, such diplomatic excursions are a waste of time. He descends more slowly, more carefully, making sure not to trip on the broken rail on the side of his own litter. 

The Hanamakis' palace is ornate, but nowhere near the splendour of the royal family's. Also, there appear to be some areas of the wall broken and peeling, the plaster trickling down with a steady ‘plop, plop’. The knocker on the great door seems to be made of solid gold, but when Kageyama looks closer, he realises that some of the gold paint is flaking off. He blinks, and wonders just how poor the family must be. 

They are greeted immediately by none other than Duke Hanamaki himself, hobbling out through the entryway, supported by a hefty walking stick and the slim, pale arm of his Duchess. She is no spring chicken, and her age shows in the tired wrinkles on her forehead and the grey of the roots of her hair. Kageyama wonders why she is so visibly aged, for she is obviously many decades younger and fresher of face than her husband; there must be some great burden weighing down her shoulders. 

Oikawa utters a piercing whoop of delight as he observes the younger Hanamaki walking quietly behind his parents. It is a mark of the closeness between the two families that he is not reprimanded for his boisterous outburst, although his mother gives him a disapproving frown, and Iwaizumi jabs him harshly in the side. The two young nobles embrace, and Hanamaki draws Oikawa away, talking all the while.   
Kageyama suddenly feels a little lonely. 

His father takes his arm and introduces him to the Duke. This is his first visit here, being only the second in line for the throne, but that means that he'll have to make meaningless small talk with the Duke and his consorts for the rest of the visit as part of his debut. He fixes a placid smile on his face, and tries not to gag as the Duchess pinches his cheeks and coos at how adorable he is. The Queen pipes up, agreeing as a sort of Greek chorus, and Kageyama has to work even harder to prevent a sardonic bark of laughter from breaking out. The Queen hates every fiber of his being, but he supposes that he cannot fault her that - he is, after all, an embodiment of her failure as a woman, her failure to engage the full favour of the king, and a possible contender for the throne against Oikawa, her son. Even Daichi, the honest, trusting angel that he is, has trained him from young to beware any food or drink that is passed his hand by the Queen. 

Then, he catches a flash of orange out of the corner of his eye, and he does a double-take. There, standing silently behind Oikawa, his eyes hooded and blank, is Hinata, the little feisty slave. 

Kageyama cannot fathom how he could possibly have missed the presence of the slave in their entourage, and he decides that he must have been travelling in Oikawa's sedan. When he had arrived to his litter, Oikawa's own had already been geared up and on the road, and so he had not observed its passengers. He had supposed that Oikawa and Iwaizumi were travelling alone, as was the norm, but obviously he had supposed wrong. 

A small, tight knot begins to grow in his heart, a strange feeling which he cannot altogether deny. He wonders what the slave has been brought here for - as a gift to the Duke's son? Surely not, if he had already been claimed by Oikawa. As a guest then? Immediately he dismisses the notion - Hinata is a slave, after all, the lowest of the low, and would not be brought out on an excursion simply for pleasure's sake. 

 _For pleasure's sake..._ Suddenly, a streak of horror shoots through him, and he jerks his head sharply back to observe the group standing just out of his line of vision. Hinata, Iwaizumi, Oikawa, and Hanamaki - but the quartet has already become a quintet, for now there is another man standing with them. He is clothed in the garb of a slave, although with less extravagance than Hinata is, and the transparent robe he is wearing betrays his function. There is a long iron necklace looped around his thick, strong neck, and Hanamaki keeps one finger absent-mindedly looped in its chains.

Kageyama swallows down his disgust - the man's entire attitude is that of a trainer holding the chain of a cowed, tamed wild beast, an image which is only exacerbated by the untamed flame burning in the man's dark eyes, and his wild, curling obsidian hair. Perhaps the necklace is not strong enough to bind the slave, perhaps if he ran it would slip over his neck and fall to the ground, but its very effectiveness lies in its symbolism - it is a symbol of the man's incarceration, of his status as nothing better than an animal, of his _belonging_ , body and soul, to his master. 

Even as Kageyama watches, the five of them walk slowly out of the entranceway. Oikawa is not expected to stick around and chit-chat with the Duke, for this is far from his first visit here, and so he has been let off his leash to cavort as he pleases with the younger Hanamaki. Kageyama forces down the bile in his throat as he watches them go; from the clenching of Iwaizumi's jaw and the shaking of Hinata's fingers, he can tell just where they are going. He wonders, briefly, why he is feeling so stricken; if they are going to couple together, why should he be so bothered by this state of affairs? It is none of his business - Hinata is, of course, Oikawa's slave, and his to do with as he pleases, and naturally Hanamaki has leave to do whatever he wants in his own home. But the look in Hinata's eyes, the half-pleading, half-resigned dampening of the flame that burns within him, stirs something primeval in Kageyama, a primitive desire to protect the vulnerable almost-child. He watches them go, his hands unconsciously clenching and unclenching, as he tries not to wonder what Hinata looks like, spread out and vulnerable, on pale white sheets and bathed with dim moonlight. 

He drags his attention back to the Duke and Duchess, realising guiltily that he has been neglecting their words. They are speaking to him about his education, friendly, meaningless phrases falling from their lips in an attempt to engage his attention, but all he can answer with are short nods and various grunts of assent. He is not a conversationalist, and this facade of a conversation is making his head spin. Finally, they leave him be, and turn to the king, to speak of more private matters. 

Kageyama tears his attention away from the last flash of fiery hair he sees disappearing down the corridor, and forces himself to listen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk about the necklace thing but for some reason Makki controlling Mattsun is fucking sexy.  
> Also Oikawa's 'type' is the exact opposite of Iwa-chan, and yes, there is a reason for this, and yes, the words Hinata is writing do have some significance. My [tumblr](http://kitcatkandy.tumblr.com/)


	4. Iwaizumi - Words Are Only The Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really late, forgive me T.T Writing this was like plucking out my teeth, idk why but enjoy anyway

"I must speak to the prince for a while.”

Easy words to say, but Iwaizumi feels anger surge through his blood the moment Hinata leaves the room. He takes a deep breath; the last time he's felt this kind of rage, the kind of rage that tears through his bones and makes him want to toss Oikawa out of the window, had been when he had caught Oikawa with the whip under his bed. Oikawa had protested, then, claiming that  _he'd only been a teensy-weensy little bit curious_  and that  _he'd never actually meant to use it_ , but all the same Iwaizumi had been horrified. Horrified, and disgusted. As the crown prince, Oikawa had naturally been left to do anything he wanted and as he wanted, but Iwaizumi had always taken it upon himself to make sure that Oikawa always walked the right path. He was given rare liberty over Oikawa's actions and doings, being his childhood friend, and always he had tried to his best to make Oikawa stick to the straight and narrow, but the prince's tendency towards more…  _unusual_  realms was a little harder to control.

Oikawa had always been a curious boy.

And now, staring at the figure lying prostrate and unmoving in an attitude of utter satiation, right behind the curtains, Iwaizumi feels anger start to boil underneath his skin and send a furious, roaring flush into his face. His face probably looks a fright, he is sure, because he can feel the telltale strain in his forehead that tells him that's he scrunching his brows together tightly over his eyes. Only Oikawa can make him this angry, this itchy for a fight, this full of  _hate_  and violent emotions and uncontrollable, unforgiving  _jealousy_. He rips apart the curtains with force, and recoils with equal vehemence as he sees what Oikawa is doing.

Long, thin fingers slowly stroking across his half-hard cock, his head thrown back and eyes staring half-mast and heavy-lidded right into Iwaizumi's. His full red lips are pouting, open in an unspoken gasp of pleasure. The image of the delicate, almost translucent skin of his chest, with its two pale nipples and the dark trail of hair leading down to where his fingers are moving, slow and sinful, across the hard length of his cock, is burned into Iwaizumi's memory. He is lying against the multitude of blankets and pillows and furs which make up his sleeping space, and he looks just like a painting in one of the scrolls Iwaizumi has read. Iwaizumi's eyes roam over the sculpted planes of his body before he can stop himself, eyes hungrily devouring every inch of exposed skin, every sharp curl of his eyelashes, every line of muscle in his flesh.

And then Oikawa  _smiles_. He fucking  _smiles_ , a lazy, languid smile which curls the corners of that voluptuous red mouth and reveals the sharp canines of his teeth. It is a predatory smile, of a carnivore who has cornered his prey, and immediately he arches his body upwards, thrusting his entire torso obscenely towards Iwaizumi's face.

"Like what you see?" he drawls, his voice so smug and self-satisfied that it snaps Iwaizumi out of the daze into which he has fallen, and reminds him that this is  _Oikawa_ , of all people, who he is so shamelessly ogling.

“Nope,” he says, resolutely, and backs  _the fuck_  away, slamming the curtains together brutally. He hears the frantic sounds of Oikawa scrambling up, and his muffled curses as he gets tangled in the throws and pillows around him, but he doesn't bother with them and stomps straight for the door. He feels strangely  _empty_ and drained of anger, as if the sight of Oikawa touching himself has just taken a huge chunk out of his energy reserves. Even in his dreams, he had never envisaged Oikawa's body to be so flawless, so beautiful, and he feels his cheeks redden as he recalls the sight. He has never known if Oikawa actually suspects his feelings for him, or if it is just his naturally-flirtatious nature making him always toy with Iwaizumi's natural instincts. And it isn't like he's never seen Oikawa's body before - when they were children they had frequently bathed together in the surrounding streams, and young Iwaizumi had even stared for hours on end at Oikawa's body, wondering what those were dangly bits were and why boys needed nipples too.

He remembers all this, and he curses himself for being so dense.

Iwaizumi makes it almost to the door when Oikawa leaps onto him. He is still naked, having pounced directly from the bed in a frenzied effort to keep Iwaizumi from leaving, and some wicked, reckless part of Iwaizumi is  _happy_  that Oikawa is so desperate to keep him around. The warmth of Oikawa's body is pressing against his back, and he can feel Oikawa's panting breaths on the exposed skin of his neck, feel Oikawa's erection nudging heedlessly against his buttocks. He winces, and feels his cock twitch slightly.

"Iwa-chan----" Oikawa whines, his fingers twisting and winding and fidgeting nervously in Iwaizumi's hair. It's a habit he had picked up when they had gone bug-hunting in the woods and they had seen a wolf spider. It's a clear indication that he's afraid, skittish, and Iwaizumi feels himself relax. It's one of the few genuine things that Oikawa shows, and somehow, it makes Iwaizumi feel safer.

"I was just kidding," Oikawa says, with a sulky pout. "Why does Iwa-chan not have any sense of humour? It was just that I still felt horny after Hinata left and I was just thinking about how soft his skin was and suddenly I was hard again. It's a natural human reaction, Iwa-chan, naughty Iwa-chan, and you needn't act so scandalised!" Iwaizumi realises that Oikawa's actually,  _somehow_ , managed to work himself up into a state of agitation and self-righteous indignation, and it makes Iwaizumi feel like the villain here. He puffs out and amused and irritated sigh.

"It wasn't that," he muttered. "Fuck you, Shittykawa, just shut up for a moment, can you?" He presses his palms to his forehead, his eyes pressing shut tightly as he tries to calm himself down. A few seconds later, he feels timid, long fingers massaging gently at his temple. He opens his eyes and sees Oikawa quietly pressing his pressure points, staring at him hesitantly over his shoulder. His gaze is so endearing, so afraid, and so unlike the usual Oikawa, that Iwaizumi has to suppress an involuntary smile. His gaze softens in place, however, and Oikawa smiles brilliantly. "Iwa-chan," he says softly. "Is anything wrong?" 

 _Everything's wrong,_  Iwaizumi wants to say.  _The man you were holding in your arms, the one who makes you cry out with pleasure and exhilaration, that's all wrong, because it's_  me  _you should be whispering to with that kind of voice._  But, as always, he stays silent, and deflects his attention instead to the original reason for his anger. He turns to Oikawa, his jaw clenching as it always does when he's trying to prevent himself from flying at the prince's neck, and growls out, "What the fuck do you think you were doing with Hinata?"

Oikawa recoils immediately, the hurt evident in his eyes, but his lips thin into a defiant line. "What I have every right to do as the crown prince of this kingdom," he cries, his voice sharp, and Iwaizumi almost misses the flash of angry tears in his eyes. He doesn't fall to their charm, however, and continues to glare steadily at Oikawa while he continues on with his lecture.

"Your actions went beyond what is tolerable, and what is  _right_. Hinata is merely a child, a virgin as yet untutored in the bedroom; how can you have the gall to treat him as you do your normal slaves? Even when you treat  _them_  as such it is cruel and inhuman, but I did not speak because I thought them the follies of your youth. But to treat a mere child the way you did - " Iwaizumi is speaking faster now, the words tumbling quick, harsh, angry out of his mouth. He stops himself, almost at once, when he has to remind himself again of who he is speaking to. He glances sharply back at Oikawa, worried that he has said too much, that Oikawa's volatile temper and short fuse will soon blow back up in his face, but to his shock - and, admittedly, relief - the sullen defiance in Oikawa's face has faded away, leaving only a puzzled bewilderment.

"They are my slaves, are they not?" he asks, and his voice is so child-like, so confused, so  _plaintive_  that Iwaizumi feels a tinge of remorse before he can stop himself, for the severe rebuke he has just given him. Iwaizumi realises that they have unconsciously slipped back into their formal speech patterns, something they only do when severely at odds. He hates these moments, hates them intensely and fiercely - even though most of the time it is he who initiates their conflicts - because it is one of the few moments when they aren't in perfect harmony, in perfect synchronisation.

"Are they not my property, to do with as I wish? Why should I be careful of their sensitivities? They were trained to serve me and my every whim, were they not?" Oikawa's words are genuinely puzzled, and the look in his eyes is certainly sincere. Iwaizumi grits his teeth - always Oikawa has had a sense of entitlement, the conception that, because of his status, he can do whatever the hell he wants. Iwaizumi has always tried to rid him of this mindset, but as a mere royal guard, even with their past history and the unusual liberty he was granted with Oikawa's moral education, there is a limit to what he can do. It is always a fuzzy and dangerous line with Oikawa, because Iwaizumi is always afraid that, in his remonstrations, he would cross some invisible boundary line.

"Your slaves are people too, Shittykawa," Iwaizumi says, softening his tone and trying to find the right words. "You can't just treat them like trash."

Oikawa pouts, but the storm in his eyes is gone, and Iwaizumi heaves a secret sigh of relief. Sometimes, it seems, he's dealing with a child rather than a grown man who's next in line for the throne. "Fine, whatever," Oikawa mutters, turning away from him and stalking over to the bed to get his clothes. Iwaizumi adverts his gaze from the sight of Oikawa's bare buttocks. “I don't want to talk about this anymore.”

Iwaizumi sighs, but he knows that's as far as he'll get, with Oikawa in this mood. He follows Oikawa over to the bed and picks up his sleeping linens, absent-mindedly draping them over Oikawa's shoulders. Oikawa starts chatting as he usually does, to fill the silence. He talks about the latest scandal in his father's court, about the next time he's visiting the royal tailor to make him a new set of ceremonial robes, about Hanamaki and his latest obsession with Chinese teacups. Iwaizumi doesn't say much - he never needs to with Oikawa - and he just listens, listens to the gentle, unceasing flow of Oikawa's voice, listens to the rustling of the curtains as a soft night breeze blows through the window, listens as the branches tap out a quiet rhythm on the window panes.

***

"I want to bring Hinata along when we visit Makki."

Iwaizumi is eating his fifth slice of toast when Oikawa utters this sentence, and he almost chokes. When he manages to get out of his throat the piece of bread which had wandered so fortuitously downwards, he turns bewildered and aghast eyes on Oikawa. The latter is stirring his tea dreamily, one hand tearing absent-mindedly at the milk bread on his plate and tossing the pieces carelessly into his mouth. Eating breakfast together is an everyday ritual for them; even at a very young age, they had been close friends, close enough for Oikawa to whine constantly when Iwaizumi wasn't at his side. The solution Oikawa's nurse, Iwaizumi's mother, had found to Oikawa's constant sleepiness-induced tantrums had been to place Iwaizumi at his breakfast table, to counteract any bad temper caused by Oikawa being unceremoniously woken from his morning slumber. The trick had worked wonders, Oikawa not daring to fly off the handle in front of Iwaizumi - who, even at a young age, had been steadfast in his promise to beat any bad behaviour out of Oikawa. Lunch they ate separately, for it was invariably a time for Oikawa to entertain guests, and dinner was eaten with the King and Queen - certainly not an affair for a mere peasant to intrude upon. It was thus that breakfast became a sacred hour for them, an inviolable ritual which only they shared together.

Usually, they would pass the time with small talk, as was their custom, and so Iwaizumi was naturally shocked when Oikawa spoke of such serious matters at the breakfast table; it was highly uncharacteristic, and extremely worrying. What made Iwaizumi particularly horrified, however, was that brief mention of Hinata - he had been present before when Oikawa had brought a slave to 'share' with Hanamaki, and it had not been a pretty experience.

His throat is suddenly dry, and he swallows. The movement is surprisingly difficult to execute. Oikawa, he thinks resentfully, has absolutely no comprehension of Hinata's age and inexperience - he knows only that he is a slave, and as such demands absolute servitude and obedience. He had called for Hinata the previous night, and Iwaizumi had observed clearly that, in the young slave, pride was an eminent trait; no matter what humiliations or reckless demands Oikawa had asked of him, he would simply grit his teeth and obey. There was no buckling down, no heady cry for mercy, just a clenching of his fists and blood drawn from his lips as he lay down quietly and allowed Oikawa to drive relentlessly into him.

Iwaizumi looks straight into Oikawa's eyes, and sees nothing but innocent amusement. He schools his expression carefully, making sure not to show his turmoil of emotions on his face, and replies frankly, "That's a pretty shitty idea, Trashykawa. He's got barely any experience; do you really think he'd be able to satisfy your and Hanamaki's voracious appetites?"

For a second, something unreadable flashes across Oikawa's eyes. Then he blinks, but the expression has already flitted away. He pouts, and scowls fiercely as he slurps down his tea with ungentlemanly noises. "They're not ‘voracious’, he grumbles petulantly, picking at the pieces of bread. “Besides, it wouldn't be fair if it was just Makki sharing with me, and anyway we've already established that Makki won't let me fuck that pretty little slave of his. So I'm going to have to bring my own main course to the party, you know.”

Every word that comes out of his mouth makes Iwaizumi want to grab his collar and slam him on the table, and the only things that's stopping him is the valuable chinaware on the table. So he has to content himself by slamming his hand on the table and giving Oikawa a furious glare. "Shut up," he growls. "Don't say another word, and just eat. You're supposed to be leaving in a couple of hours and you're not ready yet, are you?"

Oikawa gasps theatrically. "I haven't done my toilette!" he squawks, cramming the remaining pieces of milk bread into his mouth and washing it down with a few quick gulps of tea. He gestures for the servants to clean away his and Iwaizumi's empty plates, then stands, and motions to the door. "Shall we go?" he says, and his smile is so bright, so blinding, so heartbreakingly  _beautiful_ , that Iwaizumi has to stop, and close his eyes for a while.

***

"Makki!!" Oikawa's delighted yell rings out through the entire hallway, and Iwaizumi sees Kageyama wince involuntarily. Iwaizumi's already used to Oikawa's tendency towards exaggeration when it comes to Hanamaki Takahiro, his closest friend among the peerage, but to the untrained observer, such loud outbursts are extremely uncommon among the upper class.

The younger Hanamaki is, as ever, garbed in exquisite dress, although he  _is_  smart enough to dress a tad less gaudy than Oikawa is. The exotic Persian cap he is wearing is tilted fashionably, showing a hint of his bright pink hair. Iwaizumi wonders where he had gotten that shade of hair, as he remembers that both his parents are brunettes, then he decides that some questions aren't worth risking his neck to ask.

Oikawa and Hanamaki greet each other with enthusiastic hugs, genuine affection showing in the duke-to-be's eyes. Iwaizumi doesn't mind him, actually; he's one of the sincerer royals, and he actually has a sense of humour,  _and_  he can actually hold a proper conversation that  _isn't_  about the latest fashions in Aoba Johsai. Unfortunately, their difference in station is something that has always prevented them from actually speaking. Which is a great pity, because Iwaizumi, from what he has heard of Hanamaki and Oikawa's conversations, likes his dry wit and sarcasm. It keeps Oikawa on his toes. And besides, no one could ever look at his exotic hair without feeling at least a smidgen of envy.

After Oikawa and Hanamaki have finished the brief catching-up that always ensues when they meet, the conversation inevitably turns to Hinata, who, all this while, has been standing sedately behind Oikawa, waiting for the introductions to be made. Hanamaki turns his lazy, hooded eyes on Hinata, and asks in a voice not completely devoid of interest, "And… who is  _this_?"

Oikawa grins. It is a cat-like grin, and a grin that Iwaizumi has often seen, usually right before Oikawa proposes some outlandish, crazy idea which is sure to get them - correction, _Iwaizumi_  - in trouble. "Oh, you know, just my newest slave," he says innocently, blinking those large brown eyes of his like an owlet. "I took a look at your slave the last time, and since you decided  _not_  to let me fuck him, I decided to get a slave of my own. And I was thinking..." His eyes roam hungrily to the man standing in the shadows, in the corner behind Hanamaki, and his tongue flicks out to wet his lips. "I was thinking we could have a little party of our own, to have a little…  _fun_ , while the adults talk about serious things. What do you say, Makki?"

An ominous feeling grows over Iwaizumi, sending a chill down his spine. Oh, from what he knows of Oikawa, an orgy in the works wouldn't be too far-fetched, and it makes him  _sick_.

Hanamaki's eyes light up, and his eyes flick towards Hinata's tiny form. He tilts his head, studying the boy quizzically, then murmurs, as if almost to himself, "You always did like tiny beauties, didn't you?" Yes, Oikawa has a type, and it's everything Iwaizumi isn't. Short, svelte, exotic hair colour... Iwaizumi is none of these, and that's just one of the many factors he could enumerate which detail why, exactly, Oikawa would never pick him.

Hanamaki scrutinises Hinata for a while more, then apparently satisfied, he gestures over at the man behind him. "Issei," he calls, beckoning with a finger. "Come over here to greet our guests, that's a good boy." The man - whom Iwaizumi now recognises as the dark-haired slave Hanamaki keeps at the forefront of his harem - ambles towards them lazily. He is taller than both Hanamaki and Iwaizumi, and almost as tall as Oikawa. His dark hair curls rebelliously against the tan skin of his neck and his forehead, and his eyes are heavy, hooded, half-mast under his thick eyebrows. He really is quite handsome, Iwaizumi thinks, too handsome to be a preferred slave. Perhaps Hanamaki sees some beauty in him that none of them can.

His voice, too, is strong and sturdy, and a pleasant drawl. He is introduced as Matsukawa - the cheerful 'Mattsun' merely an invention of Oikawa's - greets the three visitors with suitable aplomb, his eyes flicking over Oikawa and Hinata momentarily before landing on Iwaizumi. His stare is definitely interested, perhaps not in a lustful or promiscuous way, but with perhaps more scientific curiosity, as if Iwaizumi were some strange specimen of animal brought over from the wilds of Central Asia. They exchange glances for a brief flash, before the slave tosses his head and looks away.

Then Iwaizumi looks down, and he is rudely reminded of the one quality he absolutely  _detests_  about Hanamaki.

Around Matsukawa's neck is a long, iron necklace, each link intricately-carved to resemble the link of a chain. It is hanging long, still and heavy against Matsukawa's broad chest, and the moment he had arrived on scene Hanamaki had absent-mindedly threaded a finger through its coils, as if it were an action he was used to, as if he were used to keeping hold of Matsukawa's very liberty. The chain is not cumbersome in any way, and it would not hinder Matsukawa should he choose this moment to flee; no, its intent is merely symbolic, to act as an icon and constant reminder of his involuntary incarceration, and lifelong servitude.

Keeping slaves is a common and well-practised art among the nobles, but that doesn't mean Iwaizumi has to like it, especially when practised to such a degree. But then again, he supposes, he should expect no less; most of those as young as Hanamaki and Oikawa are, are often just as spoiled, and just as entitled. They are the norm, rather than the exception.

Without further ado, Hanamaki beckons for them to follow him, and he leads them deeper into the inner palace, where the rooms for entertaining the guests are.

***

"Iwa-chan!" Iwaizumi turns around slowly, praying fervently that the ecstatic moans from earlier had been cries of orgasm, and that the orgy is already over. He releases a breath and thanks the stars when he finally faces the four of them, and they are no longer in coitus. Admittedly, they are not yet dressed, but it is a whole sight better than catching them  _inflagrante delicto_.

Iwaizumi trains his eyes on anywhere but Oikawa - Hanamaki's pale white skin, the dark slash of a scar across Matsukawa's abdomen, the arch of Hinata's sleek neck - and responds stoically to Oikawa's call. "Yes?" he asks, finally deciding to fix his eyes on the floor and wishing that he hadn't clenched his jaw so hard earlier when they'd asked him to join the orgy, because  _fuck_ , it actually  _hurt_.

Then he realises that it was a mistake to take his eyes off Oikawa, because now Oikawa's managed to creep up on him, and he's suddenly appeared out of nowhere, draped over Iwaizumi's shoulders. He feels Oikawa's breath on his ear, and suddenly his entire body is on fire - he feels streaks of heat thread through his skin, searing his face and ears and skin and shooting all the way down to his cock.

Then he makes his second mistake: he looks up, and locks eyes with Hanamaki. There is a knowing look in his eyes, a glance with a mixture of pity, and derision, and painful understanding.

"Iwa-chan," Oikawa purrs into his ear, his voice a low, lazy yawn, his arm draping casually over Iwaizumi's shoulder and sending goosebumps dancing over his flesh. "Why didn't you join us? It would have been more fun with more people, you know. The more the merrier."

Iwaizumi shrugs his hand off rudely, and turns the full force of his glare on Oikawa. It's his third and last mistake, and the one that almost makes him come undone - three strikes, and he's almost struck out. Oikawa is still unclothed, standing there unabashedly in all his glory, with sweat-slicked skin and red-stained cheeks and a sleepy, satiated look in his half-lidded eyes. He blinks, and lifts his hand to comb through his tousled hair, and Iwaizumi watches the gentle curve of his triceps bunch.

Iwaizumi wants to kiss him, touch him, and press him to the ground and fuck him all in the next heartbeat. He hears some kind of throaty, choking sound, and he realises that it's his own voice. Abruptly a soft laugh sounds from behind him, and he glances over, thankful for the distraction. Matsukawa is smiling at him, a good-humoured smile, and his fingers are tracing lazy shapes on the floor. Hanamaki's hand is combing relaxedly through the dark curls on his head, but the moment Matsukawa makes his sound of amusement Hanamaki's fingers tighten, forcing the slave to look up at him, forcing him to bare the vulnerable, tender skin of his neck. Iwaizumi grimaces reflexively, but the look in Matsukawa's eyes makes him stop short - it is a look of quiet challenge, of lazy, comfortable defiance, so unlike the fear and pitiful obedience that was present in the eyes of Hanamaki's previous slaves. In response, Hanamaki smiles, a slow and hungry smile which spreads across his face like a blush, and he bends down to kiss Matsukawa's proffered lips.

Looking at this, Iwaizumi is strangely fascinated and repulsed. He is fascinated by the level of intimacy that seems to exist between the two off them, the emotional connection and similarity of manner, but at the same time he is nauseated by Hanamaki's blatant treatment of Matsukawa as something that he can restrain, and control.

"Don't they make a pretty pair?" Oikawa murmurs in his ear, and suddenly Iwaizumi is snapped back into reality, into the reality of Oikawa's body pressed snugly against his back and his mouth right next to Iwaizumi's ear. His voice is vaguely wistful, and holds a tinge of jealousy that Iwaizumi can detect, but barely. "They suit each other, you know," Oikawa sighs, his fingers moving upward to stroke absent-mindedly through Iwaizumi's hair.

"They do," Iwaizumi murmurs, almost unconsciously, and he only realises that he has uttered these words, and not simply thought them in his mind, when he feels Oikawa shift and look at him in surprise. "Iwa-chan, you sound almost…  _jealous_!" he cries, and Iwaizumi wants to throttle him. Then he throws his arms back around Iwaizumi, and starts to wail. "How can you be jealous of them, Iwa-chan, cruel Iwa-chan, when you have  _me_!!!  _Me_ , Iwa-chan, I can satisfy all your wants and your needs and anything you ask -"

Iwaizumi shakes him off irritably and goes to where Hinata is sitting, off in the corner, staring at the floor. He has thrown over his shoulder a blanket from the bed in an attempt to cover his modesty, but it does a poor job of hiding the multiple bruises and bite marks that dot his skin. Iwaizumi crouches down next to him, just as he might to a skittish mouse deer hiding in the underbrush, and drapes his own coat over Hinata's thin shoulders. The moment the fabric makes contact with his skin, Hinata's entire body vibrates tremendously, as if he had just been struck by lightning, and he whirls around to glare into Iwaizumi's eyes. Iwaizumi is both shocked, and strangely…  _touched_  by the unquenchable fire of his eyes, and his respect for the little slave only grows. "It's cold outside," he says, his voice softening. "Put this on, you'll freeze to death otherwise." Hinata buttons the coat without a word, and Iwaizumi notices that his fingers are trembling with the effort of staying silent.

Oikawa sighs, the disappointment obvious in his voice, and walks over to Hanamaki. He settles down on one of the divans by the pair and drapes one arm over the back of Hanamaki's couch. "Makki," he whines, but there is a curious undertone of seriousness in his voice which Hanamaki also detects, and it makes him sit up and look sharply at Oikawa. They pause, for a moment, looking simply into each other's eyes, then Oikawa pulls his mouth tight and lays back down on the divan with his hands behind his head and his body in an attitude of utter boredom. Fat chance of that, though; Iwaizumi can see every tense line of his body, the tight alertness he keeps leashed about himself always.

"Our parents are speaking of the revolution now," he says absent-mindedly, toying at a loose string protruding from the cushion. "They're speaking of the revolution which stemmed from  _your_ family's fief, Makki." Here he raises his head slightly, and arches a lazy eyebrow at Hanamaki. "Do you know anything about it?"

Hanamaki sighs, and lays back down on the couch. Matsukawa automatically leans back too, so that Hanamaki's hand is still buried comfortably in his hair. "It is such droll stuff," he drawls, the fingers of his other hand twirling casually through the short, cropped strands of his pink hair. "They speak of the dissatisfaction of the people, their desire to rebel, but in truth I see not why they are so worried."

Oikawa bobs his head in agreement, and continues on with a voice that is lazy, and utterly devoid of emotion. "That is so; every revolutionary who dared to throw down the gauntlet has been promptly executed by my father, or yours; I see not why that state of affairs cannot exist as it is, and why they must continue to stir up this nest of bees in an attempt to discover the roots of the revolution. I walk on the streets, and I see people happy to answer my idle chatter and pleased to see my very face - I do not understand why there are people who cannot be satisfied with the privileges the King has already given them, and seek to wrest more from our grasp."

Hanamaki laughs. "How many people have tried to take your life this month, Oikawa?" he calls, his voice teasing. "I have had but one; a paltry sum, and Father's guards soon threw him into the dungeon."

"I have had  _four_ ," boasts Oikawa - yes, he actually  _boasts_ , and Iwaizumi feels like ripping his shirt open, ripping open the thin fabric to show the four new scars he has to show for those four attempts on Oikawa's life. It's not that he was careless, just that he hadn't expected longswords to be an assassin's typical fare. He turns, disgusted, from Hanamaki's face, and goes to sit on the opposite end of the room, where he can still keep an eye on Oikawa, but where he can more effectively prevent his hands from curling into fists and beating the hell out of the crown prince and the duke's son.

Hanamaki raises an eyebrow. "Four?" he says, his voice lilting up at the end with amusement. "That is indeed a greater number than mine, but keep in mind that you are the crown prince, and I am but a lowly duke. If at least one dissatisfied revolutionary tried to knife me in the dark, I'd best feel honoured, wouldn't I?"

Oikawa sighs loudly and flips over onto his stomach. "That's as may be," he says, grinning cheekily, "but I've still got four to your one."

***

"This is not a fucking  _game_ , Oikawa," grinds out Iwaizumi, once they are safely ensconced in the privacy of Oikawa's sedan litter. He has waited until they are alone before lecturing Oikawa - he does, of course, recognise how important appearances are to Oikawa - but now, he lets his fury and disgust at Oikawa's flippancy towards the political situation of the empire run loose. Yes, it  _is_  true that Oikawa has ever been dismissive and painfully-ignorant about the plight of the people of Aoba Johsai, and Iwaizumi has always accepted that, accepted that it was difficult and wholly impossible for a sheltered, pampered prince to appreciate the struggles of the poor and the oppressed. What he had  _not_  expected, and what he was frankly  _horrified_  by, was that Oikawa was flippantly and callously treating these perceived issues as things of no import.

Iwaizumi himself had come from an impoverished family, entering the palace as the son of Oikawa's nurse. He had been lucky enough to ensnare the friendship of the young prince, and pass the test to become a royal guard, but his older brother had not been so lucky. His older brother had left the palace at an early age to marry a farmer's daughter, and every year Iwaizumi and his mother were let out of the palace for a day to visit them. The first time they had gone, Iwaizumi had been shocked - and utterly confused - by the state of disrepair their farmhouse was in, by the state of dilapidation of their assets, and the plain, patched clothes of the family. His brother had seemed thinner, older, more worn than before, and from him Iwaizumi had learned of the tyranny and excess of the royal family which imposed heavy taxes on the people, and drained them of their spirit. Iwaizumi has had these experiences, and it is through them that he understands the pain and suffering poverty imposes on the poor, but Oikawa has had no such privilege. Iwaizumi has therefore always given him a measure of allowance with regards to his ignorance and callousness towards the people of his kingdom, but no more - now, he is a grown man, and the insensitivity to others' plight is slowly starting to translate and seep into his actions, and his character. Iwaizumi remembers his treatment of Hinata, and winces.

Oikawa turns innocent, wide eyes towards him - Iwaizumi suddenly realises that this is his usual reaction to any rebuke of Iwaizumi's nowadays, and he curses himself for being so vulnerable to it. "What's not a game, Iwa-chan?" he asks, and his voice is so prim, so bewildered, that Iwaizumi utters an involuntary, harsh bark of laughter that rings surprisingly loud in the cavernous silence of the room. Oikawa's lips are curved in a characteristic pout when Iwaizumi looks at him, and his expression is wildly offended. He is crossing his arms faux-patiently as he waits for Iwaizumi to finish laughing, before he raises one officious eyebrow questioningly. When Iwaizumi has sufficiently recovered, he wipes his mouth and directs a mirthless smile towards Oikawa.

"The state of affairs of your  _country_ , Oikawa, the country that you're going to  _inherit_  in several years, is  _not a game_ , no matter how flippantly you and Hanamaki regard it. Actual lives and people are at stake here, Oikawa, and I cannot believe that you would be so naive as to treat it as a  _fucking competition_  as to who garners more assassins after their head!" By the time he finishes speaking he is almost spitting, absolutely furious and the devil incarnate in his wroth. Oikawa recoils slightly, as if he had not expected such harsh words, but as usual, when he receives a severe, serious rebuke from Iwaizumi, he reacts with an injured defiance and an air of injustice. His lips twist, and his eyes burn with a fire that is absent in his daily machinations, and frankly, Iwaizumi would think him the most beautiful he has ever been in his entire life, were it not for the fact that Iwaizumi is  _absolutely fucking furious with him_.

"Why should I care?" Oikawa cries, and his voice is so plaintive, so  _wronged_ , that Iwaizumi feels like laughing again, at how comic a part he is playing. "The people seem happy enough when I walk amongst them, and they show no sign of strife; besides, what should I care for the anguish of a lowly peasant when it affects not my own life?"

Iwaizumi's voice, when he speaks again, is hollow; in this conversation, he hears the echo of his remonstrance of two nights ago, when Oikawa had first fucked Hinata. They had spoken then of Oikawa's  _privilege_ , of his right to do as he wished with his slaves, and Iwaizumi knows that Oikawa regards that right as extended to his subjects as well. He looks at Oikawa's stubborn face, and finally comes to the conclusion - in a flash of realisation that is sharp, and fast, and bittersweet - that his words will have no effect on Oikawa's mindset, that, without a catalyst, there is absolutely no way that Oikawa will change. Iwaizumi can do nothing but leave the prince’s moral reformation to the hands of the gods, and hope, and pray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God Oikawa is such a spoiled brat but we all love him <3 Comments and kudos are love!  
> Hit me up on [tumblr](http://kitcatkandy.tumblr.com/) and come squeal with me about volleyball idiots who don't want to admit they're in love <3


	5. Hinata - Teach Me How

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to write Hinata is so difficult, for some reason his character is totally out of my grasp.

Hinata wakes up in the middle of the night, and for a few seconds afterwards, he isn't exactly sure why. He lies there staring at the garish pink ceiling of his room before he remembers Oikawa's face in his dreams.

He winces involuntarily when he licks his dry, cracked lips, and he tastes the tangy flavour of cold sweat. Then he realises that he's trembling,  _hard_ , and he buries his face in his arms to stop.

Every incident of the day before is burned into his mind, his memories, as if they had been placed there by a firebrand. He remembers the duke's son, Hanamaki, and his cold, cold hands. He remembers the dark eyebrows and hooded gaze of the slave Matsukawa. He remembers Oikawa -  _gods above_ _,_ of  _course_  he remembers Oikawa, how can he not? - Oikawa thrusting aggressively from behind him while he worked on Hanamaki's cock, Oikawa teasingly palming his cock to erection, Oikawa telling him to “lift his legs higher and keep them there”. Hinata hadn't felt nothing  _but_  pain, that was true - Matsukawa's sympathetic hand on his cock had brought him to orgasm several times, and he had, accordingly, tried to return the favour in kind. But it had been the very act of violation itself, the act of taking away his freedom to choose whether or not to partake in an orgy of strangers... That right has been stripped from him without his consent, without his sanction, and now he just feels like a common commodity on the market: used, broken,  _tired_.

Hinata looks at the ceiling again, then decides that he needs to clear his head, and gets out of bed. He walks slowly, mindful of the painful ache in his hips and the slight swelling on his right ankle, from when he had fallen off the couch onto the floor during one of the more...  _enthusiastic_  couplings. Iwaizumi's coat is hanging on the door, and Hinata brushes it aside carefully as he opens his door, and peeks out. He pauses for a moment before he actually walks out the door, mindful of the fact that there is a guard stationed at either end of the corridor that houses the various apartments of each concubine. He looks at the east end of the corridor, to which his door is nearest, and marvels at his luck. This night, the guard on duty is Tanaka, an overenthusiastic, chirpy guard with a shaven head who had quickly befriended Hinata on the first day of his arrival, and who has a rather unfortunate (or fortunate, in this case) propensity to sleep on the job. He glances over at the other end of the corridor - Kindaichi is on guard, and as is characteristic of him, he is standing pin-straight, staring fiercely at his allotted end of the corridor and trusting whole-heartedly in his truant compatriot to guard his end properly. Hinata stifles a weary snicker, and creeps past Tanaka's snoring figure.

Once he's past the guards, there is practically no obstruction between him and the courtyard outside. He briefly considers a complete escape altogether, but that idea is quickly and summarily dismissed - he's no fool, and he's seen the guards stationed at each exit of the wall that surrounds the palace. He's also seen the wicked blades that top the walls, and he, personally, does  _not_  desire intimate acquaintance with them.

Hinata slips out, still unseen, from the plain wooden door that marks the exit from the harem wing to the gardens. This door leads conveniently to the orchard, where he's shaded from any prying eyes by the shelter of hundreds of large, fragrant fruit trees.

He sits down underneath one, and stares up through the gaps in its branches, at the sky above him. It is dark and filled with stars, and he automatically starts to connect them to form shapes, a game he's played from young. He can see the full moon winking happily at him from in between a rich constellation of stars, and his eyes drift shut, in utter mesmerism and tranquillity. There is no sound but the quiet rustle of the leaves and the occasional squabble of a dreaming songbird, and somehow, being among nature makes him feel free, and finally, somewhat happy.

Suddenly, he feels hungry.

The meagre fare provided to the slaves is plainly not enough for his large appetite, and he's been counting on his rapport with Asahi to winkle out occasional snacks and titbits. Now, he looks up at the orchard trees, and stifles a smile as he sees a lone, sad orange hanging tantalisingly off an overhanging branch. He jumps to his feet and reaches for the orange, but his fingers stop just short. Never before has he hated his height so much, and never before has an orange looked so juicy and tangy and tasty. He feels the saliva almost leaking out of the corners of his mouth already, and he has to rub his mouth vigorously against his sleeve.

A few more attempts convince him that he's really too short for any perceivable success, and he's starting to seriously consider scaling the tree to get at his luscious prize, when he suddenly hears a very loud, very audible thump from just in front of him.

He freezes. Suddenly, it seems as if the very air itself is still, unmoving, tense, because  _oh god he's not supposed to be out here and if he's caught he'll be whipped or worse and Tanaka and Kindaichi will be stripped of their roles and there'll generally just be chaos on earth_  –

He hears another thump, and a muffled expletive, in a voice that seems vaguely familiar. Hinata only had to think for a few seconds before he places that particular timbre - it is the voice of Prince Kageyama, second in line to the throne, cold and standoffish and, on occasion, pretty mean overall, but Hinata looks up at the orange hanging so painfully out of his reach and all that comes into his mind is that he's never shown any real animosity to Hinata, and he doesn't seem like the type to rat a fellow man in need out. And, most importantly, Kageyama is really, really,  _really_  tall.

(Well, taller than Hinata, anyway, and he ignores the little voice in him that tells him that practically  _everyone_  is taller than he is.)

So he creeps forward cautiously, closer to the source of the noises, hoping that the frank curiosity and careful interest Kageyama had displayed towards him on their previous encounters will hold true, and that he won't betray Hinata to the night guard for sneaking out of his quarters at some ungodly hour. He sees a vague, dark figure thrashing about in the fog, and he is almost about to make his presence known when he realises what the prince is doing.

Kageyama is wielding a long, double-bladed sword, its jewelled hilt glinting even in the dim light of the night. He is twirling, dancing, spinning gracefully among the orange trees, and every movement he makes is smooth and calculated. His body moves with a practised grace, every blow landing where it was meant to land, every swing arcing through the air like a bird of prey, every blinding stab a brutal, unexpected flash of light. Dust whirls around him, stirred up by the tailwind of his movements, and Hinata watches, transfixed, as the short tendrils of his hair swish past his brow. He watches the deft flick of his wrist as Kageyama twirls the blade in an unerring, complicated deflect of an imaginary opponent's weapon, and watches the trail of sweat drip in slow-motion down the slender, strong line of his neck. His calves bunch and flex as he spins about nimbly, and the light cotton shirt he is wearing cannot quite hide the shifting of strong muscles beneath. Hinata feels himself swallow, hard.

Then suddenly, Kageyama's eyes dart up lightning fast to meet his. They stare at each other for a brief moment, and Hinata sees the savage, almost bestial burn in his eyes as he glares at him, sees that fierce snarl turn into a look of utter surprise, and bewildered shock. They stare into each other's eyes for what seems like an eternity, when  _really it's not more than a second suspended in time_ , and then Kageyama drops his sword.

Hinata knows it's useless now to try and hide, so he creeps cautiously out from behind the tree. A second passes as they stare at each other warily, then Kageyama bends carefully to pick up his sword. He returns it to its scabbard and wipes his mouth, eyeing Hinata suspiciously.

"What..." his voice is deep and over-husky, and he clears his throat before trying again. "What're you doing here? It's against the harem regulations for a slave to be outside the wing beyond curfew."

Hinata scowls, but only slightly. He scuffs his feet on the ground, and refuses to meet Kageyama's eyes. "I was… I couldn't sleep," he mumbles; there is, of course, nothing in the world that would make him recount his dream and his silent fears to the younger brother of his tormentor. He remembers Oikawa's cold, cruel hands, and he shudders involuntarily again.

Kageyama frowns, sensing that he's holding something back. Hinata expects him to drop the subject and turn to other matters - more importantly,  _whether he'll tell on Hinata to the guards or not_  - when Kageyama steps forward, and shakes his shoulders roughly.

"No, tell me what's really wrong," he demands, his tone aggressive, as if being denied is something utterly foreign to him. Of course, that makes Hinata's hackles rise - already, their relationship is bordering on antagonistic, and Kageyama trying to be all dominant and alpha-male isn't making him any happier.

"Why should I?" he bursts out defiantly, wrinkling his nose for added effect. "It is none of your business, isn't it?"

Kageyama takes a step back, and blinks several times in confusion. It is painfully obvious that he's never been spoken to like this before, and that this kind of situation is clearly a first for him. Hinata glares at him again, and is just preparing another defensive retort when Kageyama holds up his hands and speaks again.

"I am… sorry," he says, haltingly, and he looks - is he actually  _nervous_? Hinata can't exactly tell from the deadpan scowl on his face. "It was just that you looked a little skittish and a little... drained, that was all. I… didn't… mean to pry?" There is an upward lilt to his voice as he speaks, and now Hinata knows that, yes, he  _is_  nervous. Immediately he calms down and feels a little guilty for flaring up at Kageyama.

Of course, the main problem here is, really, that he can't believe -  _won't_  believe - that a prince of the realm is actually interested in his troubles, that the second in line to the throne is actually interested in hearing about the life of a pathetic, puny, insignificant slave. Besides, Kageyama's abrasive personality is greatly at odds with his own, and the memory of his coarse, cruel first words still burn a bitter brand into Hinata's mind.

But now he looks into Kageyama's dark eyes, and sees nothing but reluctant sincerity and cautious honesty. He can't tell if that's comforting, or not, and suddenly, something instinctive inside him shifts - something reminds him that, if Kageyama really has anything against him, he could have called the guards at the first moment of their meeting and had him hauled off to the dungeons. Perhaps he really is nothing more than curious.

Hinata feels like he should be offended, as if being treated like an object of almost scientific curiosity is somehow strangely dehumanising, but he doesn't feel put off in any way. Mostly he's just relieved, and a little touched, that Kageyama actually cares enough to shake him by the shoulders and demand an answer (although that might just be the autocratic spoiled brat in him demanding to know everything and anything, even those matters not of his concern).

So Hinata takes a deep breath, and makes intensive eye contact with a caterpillar crawling inconspicuously on the ground.

"I had a nightmare," he says, candidly, and it scares him to hear how flat his voice is. "I dreamed of your brother."

He finally looks up, to gauge Kageyama's reaction, and it seems that the mention of his brother is all that it takes to harden his jaw. Suddenly, Hinata can look at him no longer, and so, it seems, Kageyama too, and they both stare at the ground in silence. This seems to be something they do quite often, Hinata thinks, and he wonders if that's natural.

He is just deciding if he should take the opportunity to slip away and return to his chambers - his emotions have been quite sufficiently defused by now - when Kageyama speaks. His voice is guttural and his words rough, but at the same time his intent shines through. He reaches out a hand, and cuffs Hinata's shoulder, hard.

"Don't think about it," he growls. "It doesn't matter. What's done is done, and you can't change that."

Hinata dimly thinks that he  _should_  be offended, that he  _should_  be angry at how casually his fears are being dismissed, but his shoulder is burning like a firebrand where Kageyama hit him, and his face is suddenly a burst of vibrant colour, and he realises that his mouth has fallen open. He can't think of what's  _right_  and what  _should be_  right now, and all he can focus on is the heady musk emanating from Kageyama's skin. He realises that Kageyama is standing closer to him that he was before, and he feels a drop of sweat trickle slowly, agonisingly, down his neck.

"Thanks," he finally grates out eloquently, averting his gaze and hoping the darkness will hide the flush on his face.  _Dammit, why is he even blushing in the first place?_  Thankfully, Kageyama seems to be as oblivious as his personality is maddening, and he doesn't seem to notice anything. "Right, that's settled," he says briskly, and Hinata wonders why his heart suddenly feels so light.

Kageyama turns to return back to his circle, and Hinata catches the glint of his scabbard in the moonlight. Suddenly, he remembers Kageyama moving swiftly and fluidly though the air, wielding his blade, and he realises that he wants to be like that too.

"Teach me how," Hinata says quickly, catching Kageyama's arm, and looking at him with his trademark stubborn gaze. Kageyama turns startled eyes towards him, and Hinata thinks to himself that he does rather like the fact that  _he's_  put that kind of look in the other's eyes. It makes him look friendlier, and… more  _human_ , somehow.

"Teach you how to what?" he asks, and his voice is so painfully confused that Hinata involuntarily lets out a huge sigh. Really, can anyone possibly be this  _dense_?

"Teach - me - how - to - use - a - sword - like - you - do," he explains, enunciating every word like he's speaking to a very small child.

Kageyama stares at him for a few more moments, as if still trying to understand his words, then he starts violently. His eyebrows snap down over his eyes, and he scowls. "Why should I do that?" he says, and his tone is so hostile that Hinata can hardly believe that they had been having a civil - not to mention  _intimate_  - conversation just minutes before.

Hinata cuffs him back on the shoulder and scowls back, equally fierce. "Don't be so grumpy," he snipes, pouting. As soon as he says these words he immediately snaps his mouth shut and stares at Kageyama with wide, horrified eyes. As apt as the adjective is at describing Kageyama's mercurial personality, he realises that has taken a great liberty in speaking so casually to the prince. He wonders, terrified, if perhaps Kageyama will have him executed for his offence.

However, Kageyama doesn't react in the expected way to the teasing insult, making a gruff sound of annoyance instead. He stalks back to the centre of the clearing and tanks out his sword, taking his stance and ignoring Hinata altogether.

Well, Hinata couldn't have  _that_ , could he?

Kageyama's acceptance of their playful banter has infused him with newfound boldness, and the courage he had temporarily lost since entering the harem. He takes a few running steps and leaps wholeheartedly onto Kageyama's back, winding his arms like a vise around the taller man's neck. He isn't tall, that's true, but by god, he can  _jump_. Kageyama staggers under the burden of his weight, but somehow manages to keep standing. He twists his head around and directs the full force of his glare onto the man clinging onto his back.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he hisses, and it would be menacing if it wasn't so hilarious. Hinata can't restrain a bright, blinding smile from streaking across his face as he grips on tight to Kageyama's back and watches as the prince staggers around drunkenly, trying to shake him off. He laughs as Kageyama stumbles his way over to a familiar-looking tree, and Hinata takes the opportunity to reach up and snag the plush, juicy orange he had longed for. As Kageyama thrashes around a few more trees, futilely trying to rub Hinata against their bark and cursing all the way, Hinata grabs a few dates from the shorter date palms and munches contentedly away. He stuffs two in Kageyama's mouth for good measure, and the latter promptly shuts up.

Kageyama chews disgruntledly for a few moments, then swallows. "That was illegal," he mumbles, through the mouthful of dates. "Daichi would kill me if he knew I stole dates from the orchard trees."

Hinata laughs, incredulously; as a child out in the desert, his mischievous streak had often led him to steal various succulent fruits from the farms they passed by on their travels, and he simply cannot fathom that Kageyama has never done so illicit an action before. For good measure, he snags a few more dates and stuffs them past Kageyama's unwillingly-parted lips.

"Who's Daichi?" he asks curiously, gripping tighter around Kageyama's neck as the latter totters around unsteadily, his sense of balance severely impaired by the weight on his back. Kageyama finally gives up on trying to dislodge him, stomping over to the centre of the clearing and sitting down.

"He is… a  _companion_  to me, I suppose. He has been by my side for as long as I can remember, and yet he is only five years my senior." Kageyama reaches up the moment he is seated and swiftly dislodged Hinata from his shoulders. Hinata tumbles to the ground, grinning playfully and chewing on the orange in one sweaty, juice-slicked palm. Kageyama's eyes follow it hungrily, as a predator watches its prey, and Hinata smiles, a smug, satisfied smile. He takes one evocative bite of the forbidden fruit, his eyes closing in absolute ecstasy - although, really, the orange is a little overripe and not exactly suited for an empty stomach - and making noises which are absolutely sinful.

Kageyama's hand shoots out, and he snatches the orange from Hinata's hand. "I am a prince of this realm," he says stubbornly. "Everything belongs to me, anyway." With that, he takes another bite, while keeping absolute, almost  _defiant_  eye contact with Hinata, as if challenging him to say something in return. Instead, Hinata leans over and yanks his sword out of its scabbard, marvelling at the way the light glances off the metal and shines almost iridescent. He places a finger near the edge of the blade, and already he can feel how sharp it is. Hinata reaches out with the sword and tries a few experimental flicks of the hand, the way he had seen Kageyama doing it, but he underestimates how heavy it actually is, and it falls to the ground with a heavy, dull thud. He just about manages not to stab Kageyama through the foot.

Kageyama pulls it out of the ground and scowls, but this time, his expression doesn't look as menacing. "Dumbass," he growls. "If you're starting out with a sword, you'd best begin with a wooden blade, or you'll hurt yourself." He stalks over into the depths of the orchard and disappears into the fog for a few moments, a few moments in which Hinata panics and wonders if he's simply left him here behind, all alone in this foggy, dark garden, when he returns carrying two wooden swords. He tosses one at Hinata's feet, and dashing off his scabbard and sword belt, casts them to the corner.

He takes his stance, and Hinata copies him deftly. They stare into each other's eyes, and Hinata stands firm against the dangerous light beginning to boil in the other's eyes. He feels his heart beat faster, almost inhumanely fast, and suddenly he is riding free among the caravans of the nomads in the desert again, his feet knocking ungracefully against the coarse fur of his camel's flanks and his hair flying free in the strong, sandy wind. He feels free and light, and as he sees Kageyama's lips mouth the word "Begin", he feels like he is dancing on air.

***

A few days later the palace is in a great buzz of activity; the crown prince is preparing a trip to the city to attend a party hosted in his honour, and he is planning to greet the local peasants on the way. It is a journey he has taken before, according to Kiyoko, and one in which Oikawa apparently _revels_. According to what Kiyoko explains to Hinata before the actual procession, he takes it more of as a chance to display his extravagance and luxury of manner, with his sedan litter decorated with various exotic jewellery and his personal camels with their intricate embroidery. He also brings along all his elaborate belongings to show off to the peasantry how rich and princely their governing royals are - his earthly possessions like his golden-leaf headdress, the purse of gold coins he scatters to the crowd in gentle benevolence, and, of course, his favourite, most beautiful slave, travelling alongside him in his litter to symbolise his fabulous power and control over every citizen of the realm.

Hinata has been chosen for this honour, having captivated the prince's attentions for the past entire week and beyond, and it is only natural that various jealousies have come into play. Madoka and many of the other slaves have been treating him with considerable aloofness - which he doesn't particularly _mind_ , actually - but he _has_ to mind when their coldness manifests into something more bitter, and directly harmful. He's started finding snakes in his bedsheets, started finding feet tripping him up ‘accidentally’ wherever he goes, started finding long gashes torn into his pretty new gauze sashes. He doesn't say anything, even when Kiyoko looks at him in concern and asks why he's wearing his unwashed, unclean robe of two days before. He doesn't answer, and soon she stops asking, but after that he finds that the attacks become a little less vindictive, and a little less common, and he is still grateful to her for that.

Kiyoko gives him a short talk the night before he is to escort the prince on his public procession. She tells him everything he needs to know about the details and the procedure of the event, including the fact that it will be rounded off by a party hosted in the prince's honour by the richest merchant in Aoba Johsai, an excitable man named Bokuto. She tells him that this is the fifth time this year Oikawa's gone on such an expedition, because the recent uprisings have made the King anxious that the peasants see the royal house as weak. The intent of the entire parade is to showcase how rich and powerful the Oikawa family is, and in doing so, hopefully deter the revolutionaries from acting.

Hinata thinks it's a terrible plan, and he wonders why the King doesn't just _listen_ to the woes of the public and try to dispel their concerns there, instead of constantly trying to quash their fury with pig-headed pissing contests, but then again, maybe that's why he's not the king.

He wears his best clothes, a thick, soft gauze which shields his face and thankfully, most of his body. This is one of his more conservative and formal outfits, and he's thankful that Oikawa has had the decency to let him at least preserve his dignity in front of the entire populace of Aoba Johsai. He suspects that Iwaizumi's good sense _might_ have played more than a minor role in the making of such a decision.

Kiyoko touches off his outfit with a hint of kohl at the tips of his eyes and a faint rouge on his cheekbones to bring colour to his face. She drapes a long, elaborate gold necklace with an intricate pendant in the shape of a camel hanging loosely at its centre, and fixes the veil tighter around his face. As she steps back to look at him, her figure relaxes, but at the same time, a curious stiff, sad look enters her eyes.

"You look beautiful," she murmurs, and her voice is huskier than usual. Hinata fidgets with the beads around his wrists, unsure of what to say in reply to that sudden compliment, but she gives him no time to ruminate. Instead, she pulls him out of the door of her room, past the silent, resentful faces of the other slaves in the main plaza of the wing, and out the great, voluminous doors. Kindaichi is already waiting there to escort him to the palace gates - even though Hinata is at worst on time, at best a little early, judging from what he can see of the sundial out in the main courtyard - the turnip-haired guard is already bouncing on his toes and restlessly looking up and down the corridor. His antsy manner is entirely in character with his overeager, enthusiastic personality, and Hinata can't help smiling. His excitement is contagious.

They make their way slowly to the entrance hall of the palace. Kindaichi is nervously keeping a tight grip on his arm, as if afraid that he will run away. Hinata cannot help reaching up with his there, unrestrained hand, and cuffing playfully at the taller man's tantalising quiff. "Turnip-head," he says, in a sing-song manner, and Kindaichi groans.

They make it to the courtyard without any further incidents, and Kindaichi ushers him to where Oikawa is standing next to his four private camels, absent-mindedly stroking their manes and talking animatedly to Iwaizumi. He looks up at the sound of Hinata's footfalls, and his face splits into a brilliant smile. Hinata will never stop marvelling at - or absolutely just  _loathing_  - how unearthly and ethereal his beauty is.

"Chibi-chan!" Oikawa exclaims, using his favourite nickname for Hinata, an altogether insulting misnomer which he derived from Hinata's small stature. It is one of the things which annoy Hinata the most about him so far. "Come now, we must be on our way. The citizens of Aoba Johsai await our arrival!" He scrutinises Hinata's veil-clad body for a few moments, and Hinata does not miss the flash of hunger, the brief flash of desire that shoots through his eyes. He licks his lips, and as they board the litter Hinata feels Oikawa's hand not-so-subtly grope his buttocks. Immediately, Iwaizumi turns and socks Oikawa none too gently, right across his face. He had not even been facing the two of them, standing as he was in front of the party, but when it comes to Oikawa and his perversions, Iwaizumi seems to have an uncanny sort of sixth sense that Hinata will always be grateful for. He hastens up the steps with quicker strides, thankful for the respite Iwaizumi's blow has given him. They enter the litter, and Iwaizumi promptly seats himself on the innermost corner, gesturing for Hinata to sit next to him, and blatantly ignoring Oikawa's cries of pain at being struck. After a little while, when Oikawa has realised that no one is paying attention to his antics except for Kindaichi, who is dancing around anxiously and generally being nothing more than a nuisance, he quietens down and sulkily enters the litter, throwing himself down on the rattan flooring with a grumpy huff of air. His left cheek is bright red, and it does rather mar his charm somewhat.

The camels are harnessed and the driver seats himself in front of the sedan, driving the steeds on. They rattle along the old, rocky stone paths, and Hinata looks blankly out of the litter at the surrounding scenery. He wonders if he'll see any of his tribe mates along the procession, and then decides that they've probably already left the deserts of Aoba Johsai for greener pastures. Sand blows intermittently in, and he pulls the veil tighter around his face. Even in the light, airy clothes he is starting to sweat, and there is a fly buzzing incessantly in his ear. The litter is a blanket of silence; Iwaizumi is looking out of the window, and Oikawa… Oikawa is looking at Iwaizumi. Hinata is dumbfounded by the curious expression on the prince's face - it is one that he has never before seen him wear, but he supposes that that is only natural. He has not had the chance to see Oikawa in a gentler, more refined setting, after all - the only masks he has seen the prince wear are that of lust, and cruel, selfish desire. He is dumbfounded, that Oikawa can look so human, and so vulnerable. Suddenly, he feels his heart shudder.

He wonders if Oikawa always looks at Iwaizumi that way, and then he wonders if he'll ever meet someone who looks at him  _that way_.

Hinata looks down, and does not look up again until he is alerted to the fact that they have reached the city, by the high-octane yells and cries that suddenly punctuate the peace and quiet of the vehicle. He chances a glance out, and reels back immediately out of shock. There are eager, enthusiastic faces peering in at the litter, holding on to the windowsill, grasping at whatever they can get a hold of. The moment he had leaned out, one of them had seized hold of his veil and had almost torn it off. He hears their excited cries ringing out louder, fiercer, more joyously, and he realises that they are cheering for the prince. He looks back in at Oikawa; the Prince is leaning out of the window on his side, his morose face transformed by a blinding smile. He is waving at the crowd, basking in their love and their rapture and their admiration of his wealth and beauty. The people surge forward, some feeling the ornate walls of the litter in awe at the beautiful gemstones embedded within, some simply wishing to touch the fragile, pale skin of Oikawa's cheek. He takes the hand of one of the dirty, ragged maidens, and kisses it with a teasing smile that speaks of dark skies and soft bedsheets and bodies twisting feverishly into the earth of the night. Hinata suddenly feels the urge of vomit; Oikawa is a master at manipulating the crowd to his desire, and he honestly seems to revel in the attention he receives. It repels Hinata, and fascinates him at the same time. He turns to look at Iwaizumi instead, and this time he feels his heart skip a beat again.

This time, it is Iwaizumi who has fixed his gaze onto Oikawa, and Hinata is shocked speechless again, for the second time. In Iwaizumi's fixed stare is the same hunger and dark desire that Hinata has seen in Oikawa's eyes before, but tempered with a softer, more familiar edge - and suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, Hinata realises why it seems so familiar. The curious look in Oikawa's eyes of earlier mirrors the tenderness that is battling the lust in Iwaizumi's eyes now.

Hinata swallows. Again, he wonders, childishly perhaps, if he'll ever have someone look at him the way Oikawa looks at Iwaizumi, the way Iwaizumi looks at Oikawa.

He cannot look at Iwaizumi any longer; somehow, his chest twinges painfully when he does so, and thus he returns his gaze to the blinding figure that is Oikawa. The latter is leaning out of the window, a shade too much for good sense, perhaps, talking to the crowd and occasionally touching a proffered baby's cheek. The sedan is rumbling along peacefully, the camels' footfalls slow and steady. Alongside their litter ride several of the royal guard upon their Arabian horses, surveying the crowd impatiently and occasionally reaching out to bar an overenthusiastic fan. Oikawa waves them away impatiently, however, and orders them to keep a distance away. He is reaching out to take a flower thrust high above the morass of people by a little child sitting on her father's shoulders, when suddenly things start to happen.

Afterwards, Hinata will never be able to remember too clearly what actually happens, only that Iwaizumi had suddenly surged upwards with a cry of alarm towards the prince, and yanked him backwards into the sedan, shielding him with his body. He had yelled out a sudden order towards the guards riding on the other side of the litter, the side to which he had so unceremoniously pushed the prince, and one of them - a monstrously huge man called Lev, if Hinata remembers rightly - had wrenched the door open and hoisted Oikawa onto the back of his steed. They had then turned, and galloped backwards towards the palace. The last sight of Oikawa Hinata had gotten had been of wide, frightened brown eyes, a mouth opened as if suspended with shock, and hands stretched out mid-reach.

He had whirled back into the carriage then, and suddenly there had been less benevolent hands reaching into the carriage, tearing at the gauzes on his body, wild stares of fury directed at his fair skin and opulent jewellery and Kiyoko's precious, perfect pendant. He had rushed to Iwaizumi's side, gripping his arms, unconsciously seeking the protection of the larger man, but then suddenly he had felt a warm, viscous fluid drip down onto his hands and he had looked down and seen red. Iwaizumi had been clutching onto his own shoulder, and as Hinata had slowly turned his gaze to meet his eyes, he had seen the royal guard's pupils dilated with pain. Then the camels had screamed, briefly, screams of agony, and the litter had jolted violently, and then - he felt, and saw no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](http://kitcatkandy.tumblr.com/), send me anything. Comments and kudos are love <3


	6. Iwaizumi - Raw Wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> o.m.g. i am so late with this, doing translations is such a burden :// but have a really long angsty iwaoi chapter in return :33

The assassin has finally been caged, and Iwaizumi is feeling  _so fucking tired_.

His shoulder hurts from when the man's knife had stabbed through, a deadly, sharp little thing which had cut through hard muscle. Thankfully, he'd been able to deflect most of the blow, but it had gone deep enough to still be stuck there in his shoulder when they had wrestled the assassin away. The cut is not deep, but it has sliced through his pectoral and narrowly missed his lung. Consequently, it impedes the movement of his left forearm quite significantly.

While Iwaizumi had been getting his wound treated, his fellow guards had conducted general preliminary interrogations, but had managed to pry nothing from the assassin of his antecedents or motivations. Later, Iwaizumi plans to question the man himself - he may have ties to the revolution, and Iwaizumi hopes to elucidate whatever precious information about the rebellion before the man is inevitably tried, and executed by being publicly beheaded, for the unforgivable sin of royal murder. And if he refuses to talk... Iwaizumi grimaces. If he refuses to talk, there is always the option of the thumbscrews and the heated firebrands.

Even now he cannot say exactly what had alerted him to the danger of a possible attack. One minute, Oikawa had been leaning out of the window, too far out as Iwaizumi has always cautioned him, revelling in the attention of the people as they marvelled at his wealth and beauty - and then the next minute Iwaizumi's instincts had sensed something wrong, had simply sent his muscles bunching, his body leaping into action as he sprang to his feet and threw Oikawa summarily back to the other side of the sedan litter.

The moment he had done so, he had seen the dagger whirling towards him, heading straight for where Oikawa's heart would have been, except that now it was Iwaizumi in his place with the lethal weapon headed straight for his own. In his mind already he was too late; there was no time to draw his blade to deflect the blow, and so he had done the only thing that had come to mind - yelling out an order to Lev and the other guards riding along the other side of the litter to keep Oikawa safe, or  _so help them he'd have their heads_ , he had twisted his body, blocking the dagger so it didn't have the chance to enter the vehicle, but deflecting it so that it had struck his shoulder instead of his chest.

Immediately he had felt a sharp, stinging pain, and then nothing more than a dull throb that sent a numbing chill down his entire arm. The adrenaline rushing through his body had been enough to block out the pain and turn it into nothing more than a mild itch, so he had ignored it, and looked back into the sedan to see if Oikawa had been successfully rescued. When he saw that Lev had seized Oikawa and was thundering back to the palace, he had finally relaxed, and turned his full attention back to the fight.

Then he had felt something touching his arm, and looked down to see Hinata clinging to his arm, the angry mob reaching in and pulling at his clothes, tearing at the jewellery around his neck, scratching viciously at his face. The boy's face had been transformed by utter terror and confusion, and he was clinging to Iwaizumi's arm like he was the last bastion of strength in this rolling morass of conflict. But then the camels had uttered eerie screams of pain, and the carriage had jolted, and Hinata's tiny ragdoll body had flown backwards, knocking his head hard on the wooden walls of the sedan.

Iwaizumi had whipped out his scimitar, and at its ferocious gleam, the mob invading the cramped space of the sedan had drawn back momentarily. Some of the men who had been trying to climb through the window halted, and stared warily at the bright, fearsome blade.

“ _Back!_ ” Iwaizumi had cried, and he had lunged for one of the scruffier-looking men. The man had toppled sullenly off the side of the sedan, and, as Iwaizumi brandished the scimitar dangerously close to several of the other men's faces, the crowd reluctantly withdrew, their bloodlust temporarily curbed by the very real threat of a very real blade.

Iwaizumi had then torn open the connecting door that allowed communications between the passengers and the camel driver. He had seen the man cowering on his stand, trying to dodge the rocks being thrown at him, a large gash on his forehead already paying testament to the viciousness of the mob. Iwaizumi's yell of fury had jolted him back into awareness of his position, and so he had seized the reins of the camels with shaking hands, and snapped them hard. The camels had wheeled round sharply, still uttering harsh barks of pain at the open wounds on their body, and galloped straight back to the palace.

The entire way back, Iwaizumi had nursed Hinata's limp body, trying to bring life back into his pale cheeks, wishing to god that Oikawa hadn't demanded to bring the child on the journey, wishing that Oikawa didn't treat every sojourn out of the palace as a pissing match to show off his wealth and power, and praying to all the gods in his pantheon that _Oikawa was safe_.

The whole chaotic incident has taken on a dream-like quality, and occasionally he only has the dull throb of pain in his shoulder to remind him that it had really happened. He has not seen Oikawa for the entire day since the incident - he had been getting his shoulder bandaged, treated with poultices, even when he had protested impatiently and quoted 'better things to do' as his excuse to leave. Finally, the doctor had allowed him to excuse himself, but not without a stern reminder that  _he'd been damned lucky the dagger hadn't severed a major tendon, because it had been pretty damn close._  

As he is walking out of the infirmary, he thinks of Oikawa. He wonders if he's safe, then curses himself for being a worrier. Of course he's safe; the rest of the royal guard are no fools, and certainly no pushovers. Lev is taller than most men in the kingdom, taller even than Oikawa, and he can take care of both himself and the prince. Besides, he has to remind himself, Oikawa's no glass doll. He has a dagger hidden in his boot and another sheathed under his robe, and he knows how to use them well.

Sometimes, with Oikawa's flippant attitude and tendency to take even the most serious situations lightly, it's easy to forget that he's a grown man who can take care of himself, a man who's been trained, from typing, in the art of combat. But all the same, Iwaizumi feels stress and worry piling up in his chest, tension which he knows will never diffuse until he's seen Oikawa safe and sound, sequestered in his quarters, with his very own eyes.

Interrogations can wait. First, he needs to see Oikawa.

He strides rapidly to the inner palace. He himself sleeps in a small room next to Oikawa's, a hidden, discreet door connecting their chambers, so that it is easier for him to go to Oikawa's defence if the night guard utters even the slightest call of alarm. He knows the path to Oikawa's chamber well, therefore, and his fingers trail vaguely over the smooth, worn surface of the plaster walls, following a comforting and familiar route he has tread many times before. Lev is standing on guard outside Oikawa's door, and so is Yaku, taking Iwaizumi's place. At the sound of his approach, both of them look up alertly, and Yaku places his hand on his scimitar in the blink of an eye. They relax when they see who it is, and Lev blinks owlishly at him.

"Iwaizumi-senpai!" he cries, his eyes tinged with worry. "How is your shoulder?" Yaku's expression, though slightly less enthusiastic, is no less concerned. Iwaizumi's hand automatically flies to cover his shoulder, and he has to remind himself that the bandages are covered very effectively by the cloth he drapes over his shoulders and his neck. He feels a bead of sweat trickling down his neck, and curses the stuffy heat of the palace.

"It's fine," he says shortly, not wanting to elaborate. He has his hand on the doorknob when something strikes him. Slowly, he turns to Lev, and tries to tone down the forbidding look in his eyes when the younger man cringes visibly.

"Did you inform the prince of the events of today after you returned to the palace?" he says, and his voice is pitched at a pleasant, calm tone, although he is aware that his expression is anything but. " _Specifically_ , about the injury I sustained?"

He doesn't want Oikawa to know about his injury - it's his standard policy after every failed assassination. He can't explain why the urge to prevent Oikawa from having any knowledge about the sacrifices he makes on a daily basis for the life of the prince, because sometimes his fellow guards have hinted that, perhaps, it would do Oikawa good to know how much he actually  _owes_  Iwaizumi, but somehow the notion has never appealed to him. Hell, the purpose of his work isn't to gain Oikawa's appreciation, and although the idea isn't altogether unlikable, every instinct in him rebels against letting Oikawa know.

He's always kept Oikawa in the dark about his scars, has always kept a cloth tied tightly around his neck, has always made sure the prince is well out of harm's way before he makes a move (although that's more of a coincidence than a conscious move on his part, because more often than not when he yells an order to the other guards to get Oikawa out of harm's way, their response is swift enough to guarantee that Oikawa is left well out of the action early on in the game). He's not going to do anything that will jeopardise their fragile dynamic, and he's certainly not going to start now.

But of course, none of this is Lev's fault; he's a new guard, and has only recently been added to the roster, so he's not used to fobbing Oikawa off when it comes to delivering information. After every assassination, so Iwaizumi has heard from the guards who accompany the prince before Iwaizumi reaches his side, Oikawa is a never-ending font of questions -  _is Iwa-chan safe? Where is the king? Are his jewels still intact?_  They answer all questions except the first, to which they give a vague answer (it's not as if they're too sure as to the answer themselves) according to Iwaizumi's whims, which they know well from years of working alongside him. But Lev is new, and he doesn't know the unspoken customs, and none of this is his fault. Iwaizumi tries to tone down the anger in his voice, regretting his harsh words the instant they leave his mouth, but before he can apologise, Yaku steps in front of Lev. His lazy eyes are suddenly piqued, and not in a good way.

Iwaizumi feels intimidated, and he's surprised, because Yaku has never challenged his authority before. "Lay off him, Iwaizumi-senpai," Yaku says, and his voice is quiet, but something in its cadence makes the short hairs on the back of Iwaizumi's neck prickle. "I was there, I made sure he didn't say anything stupid. You don't have to worry."

Immediately Iwaizumi feels ashamed, and he rakes a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, Lev," he mutters, and offers up a tired smile as appeasement. "The two of you are dismissed."

Lev and Yaku nod, and make their way down the corridor. Iwaizumi notices distractedly that Lev's cheeks are red, and he wonders briefly why, then he turns his mind to other matters. He looks at the limp hand he has placed on the doorknob, and sighs. The moment Iwaizumi steps into the dark, stuffy room, he almost chokes on the thick scent of the incense lit in the bowls around the room. He waves away the smoke drifting in front of his face with an impatient hand, and waits for his eyes to adjust to the darkness before trying to seek out the silhouette of Oikawa's body.

Iwaizumi frowns. In Oikawa's very posture, he can detect several strange anomalies. For one, he's actually sitting up pin-straight, and his head is tilted towards the window, looking out as if in deep thought. His eyes are hooded, half-mast, and he doesn't move when Iwaizumi enters the room, even though a slight stiffening of his body indicates that he's aware of the guard's presence.

For once, Iwaizumi is at a loss as to what to say. He quickly glances over Oikawa's body; the prince is not injured, with no visible bandages or marks on his body, and immediately Iwaizumi feels his entire body lighten. That doesn't explain, however, why Oikawa is acting so uncharacteristically. Neither of them makes a sound, and Iwaizumi simply stares at Oikawa, waiting for him to speak.

Then, suddenly, Oikawa stirs. His fingers move restlessly over the bedsheets, and there is a slight swaying of his torso. His hair flutters a little in the soft breeze blowing in from the opened window, and his eyelids shutter even further down, if it is even possible. Every movement of his is careless, gentle, but with a deliberateness that makes Iwaizumi's fists tighten. It's not like Oikawa to be so silent, and it's not like him to be so serious. When he speaks, his voice is quiet and throaty, and Iwaizumi almost misses the words.

"Why do they try to kill me, Iwa-chan?"

"What?" Iwaizumi asks, not really because he has not been able to hear Oikawa's words, but because he is not sure that he has heard clearly. Suddenly, Oikawa turns his head to look straight into Iwaizumi's eyes, and Iwaizumi flinches back at the raw hurt and confusion in his large eyes, and the very real, very clear vulnerability.

"Do they hate me, Iwa-chan?" he whispers, and his voice breaks on the last word. "Do they hate me so much that they would go so far as to take my life? I am a good prince to them, am I not? I enjoy their company, I speak to them freely, and I do not shy from touching them. Is that not enough?" There is a bewildered incomprehension in his voice, and he sounds so child-like and anguished that Iwaizumi can no longer stay where he is. With several large, long strides, he covers the distance between the two of them and sits down awkwardly next to him on the bed.

Hesitantly, he covers Oikawa's folded hands on his lap with his own. Oikawa's fingers are cold, deathly cold, and Iwaizumi can feel the jagged, sharp edges of his usually impeccably-filed nails cutting into the skin of his palm, can feel the prick of the nails he has been biting, in his nervousness.

"They don't hate you," Iwaizumi says gently, his voice the most tender it has been in his long association with Oikawa. He bites his lip, trying to find the right words to say, to find the best words that will make Oikawa happy again. He is not used to seeing Oikawa in so morose a state, and although he has often thought about how much better things would be if Oikawa were to be serious once in a while, this new state of affairs is unsettling, to say the least.

"They don't hate you," he repeats again, carefully. Oikawa winds their fingers together and stares down at their intertwined hands without replying. "To the people of Aoba Johsai... They see only your father and his cruel ways of governance. To them, you and your father embody the same thing: the corruption and the rot at the heart of the imperial governance. They cannot separate the two of you. Your father has faced many attacks on his person as well, which is why he prefers to send you out in his stead. The people love you more than they do him, that is true, but still they wish not to have one of the royal family stay on the throne. They want a revolution, a republic where the people of the nation decide the laws and the regulations of the empire."

Iwaizumi pauses for breath, and looks at Oikawa for his reaction. Oikawa's expression is blank, but his fists tighten around Iwaizumi's. He does not say anything, which Iwaizumi takes as a cue to continue. Suddenly, there are words rushing to the tip of his tongue, words which he has always wanted to say to Oikawa, words which might get him executed - or worse,  _exiled_  - words which have a chance of snapping Oikawa out of the dream in which he has walked his entire life.

This is an opportunity to give Oikawa a chance of rebirth, and he's not going to let it pass him by.

He steels himself, and tips Oikawa's chin, so they are staring straight into each other's eyes. There is something unfathomable in Oikawa's eyes, an expression he has never before seen Oikawa wear, and suddenly he realises that it's fear. Fear at what Iwaizumi will say, fear at what truths he'll have to face, fear what he'll finally have to come to terms with. Iwaizumi realises that he will have to tread very, very carefully.

"You see..." Here he pauses, choosing his words cautiously. "You don't seem like you take the affairs of the country very seriously, and the people don't like that." There, it's out, the whole ugly truth, and Iwaizumi holds his breath, waiting for Oikawa to throw a tantrum as he always does, but this time he doesn't say anything, and returns his gaze steadily.

Iwaizumi takes a deep breath and continues on. "These are the lives of flesh and blood people, the lives of  _your_  people, Oikawa, and if you're going to be king soon, you're going to have to start taking an interest in their needs and their wants and their desires. They don't want a king on the throne - or a prince, for that matter - who can't do that. And your father... Well, you know what he's like."

Oikawa finally speaks, and the high, clear tenor of his voice is strangely subdued. "I can't do that," he whispers. "I don't know what they want. How can I be what they want me to be?"

"Well..." There is no easy answer to that, and both of them know it. Iwaizumi absent-mindedly kneads their entwined fingers together, rubbing gently against the soft satin of Oikawa's sleeping linens. "You're Oikawa, aren't you?" The moment he says these words, he knows they're nothing but the bare, bittersweet,  _brilliant_  truth. Oikawa stiffens, his eyes darting to Iwaizumi's with a quickness that is almost imperceptible. There is nervousness in his eyes, yes, and again, that mind-numbing, bone-chilling fear too; Iwaizumi is struck by how raw his emotions are. This is a side of Oikawa which he has rarely seen, a very vulnerable, very  _exposed_  side of him, and it, frankly terrifies Iwaizumi. He knows that whatever words he says next will have profound impact on Oikawa's volatile mix of emotions, and that power makes him afraid.

His voice is as gentle as possible when he speaks again, something he has never once thought would be possible with  _Oikawa,_  of all people. "You are still their prince, and deep inside they still love you. It is only the shadow of your father's tyranny hanging over you that has turned them against you. Besides," he feels a wry, bitter smile cross his lips, "your frivolity hardly serves to instil in them any confidence that you're going to be any different from your father."

Oikawa says nothing for a few moments, a few seconds suspended in time in which Iwaizumi can hardly breathe, then he exhales.

"I understand," he says, but his voice is vague, and Iwaizumi hopes he does truly understand.

He makes to stand, to leave Oikawa's bed, but suddenly something goes wrong - perhaps he twists his shoulder sharply, or perhaps he just raises his arm a fraction too quickly, or perhaps he angles it as just the wrong angle, but in the end the net result is that a sharp, blinding pain sears through his entire left arm, and he utters a choked, strangled cry.

Immediately, he sucks it back into his throat, but it is too late. Oikawa has heard his cry of pain, and he turns alert, wary eyes to Iwaizumi.

"What's wrong, Iwa-chan?" he asks, and there's a queer emotion in his eyes Iwaizumi cannot identify. It takes a few seconds before he realises it's alarm. It's only natural, after all, Iwaizumi thinks detachedly, and curses himself for not thinking of this sooner - of course Oikawa would find out in the end, they've known each other practically their entire lives. Oikawa knows him so well, so well that he can't possibly hope to hide anything from him for long. He turns slowly to face the prince -  _his_  prince, he thinks dazedly, and the words send a sharp pain shouting through his chest, a pain he's not entirely unfamiliar with. He thinks too much and too long about Oikawa to be unused to feeling this kind of emotional anguish. It's either that, or a severe heart condition, and sometimes he wishes it's the latter.

Somewhere deep inside him he's panicking, his heart tumbling and rolling cartwheels and alarm bells ringing in his head, because  _oh god if Oikawa sees his body he'll be disgusted, he'll be repelled; the bodies that he loves are flawless, beautiful, slender, unmarked by any hand other than his own_ , but somehow on the exterior his hands are stable and his eyes are hooded and his face is the perfect semblance of calm. He is surprised at how steady his voice is when he speaks. "What do you mean, Shittykawa?" he rumbles, and his throat is dry. "There's nothing wrong with me." The heady smell of that cursed incense floods his nostrils, and suddenly all he wants to do is run - turn and run from Oikawa and the way his eyes glitter, hard as diamond but brittle as glass, and somehow he doesn't want to see him shatter.

Oikawa is studying him, and there is a strange, burning gleam in his eyes. They can see into the depths of his very soul, those eyes, and now, he fears Oikawa for that power he wields, the power they have over each other. Then Oikawa dips his head, and Iwaizumi's shoulders sag with relief, but at the same time there is a queer heaviness bearing down on his heart and he almost -  _almost_  - wishes Oikawa cared enough to ask more. He turns to leave, and that is when Oikawa pounces.

Suddenly, he feels the thick woollen scarf around his neck unwind -  _the scarf he has never taken off in public for more than more years, ever since he had gotten that slash across the neck from a particularly agile assassin of Oikawa's_  - and he is bared to the prince's gaze. Oikawa's eyes dart across the little cuts on his throat, the long shallow gash across the nape of his neck, the tip of a scar that extends beyond his shoulders and down into the hollow of his back. Iwaizumi knows that he has to run, and quickly, but somehow suddenly his legs are frozen and  _he cannot move_.

Oikawa slowly rakes him up and down, head to toe with his gaze, and there is suddenly a dangerous light in his eyes Iwaizumi does  _not_  like.

"Strip, Iwa-chan," he says, his voice soft, and Iwaizumi cannot disobey the order of his prince. He takes off his robe as slowly as is humanly possible, his fingers fumbling helplessly at the sash around his waist. He catches his thumb on the ornate metal clasp, and watches dazedly as a dark red drop of blood oozes out angrily from the cut. He cannot believe that this is actually  _happening_ , that Oikawa's about to see what he's been keeping secret all these long years, but at the same time there is a strange lightness in his body, and he feels as if he could fly.

The bandage on his shoulder stands, a stark and proud contrast to his dark, tanned skin. Blood has seeped through in dots on the snow-white fabric, and Oikawa's pupils dilate as he looks at the binding. Iwaizumi clenches his jaw, and stands there unmoving, clad only in his pantaloons. The wind blows coolly over his skin, and he shivers.

"I always wondered why you wore such thick clothes, Iwa-chan," Oikawa says, his voice quiet. Iwaizumi cannot read the emotions in his voice, and that makes him stiffen even further. Oikawa steps closer and his hand stretches out, as if to touch Iwaizumi's skin - Iwaizumi's breath halts, and he feels the skin stretch taut over his chest - but then at the last moment, his fingers snap short and clench reflexively into a fist. Iwaizumi realises that he's trembling. "How many scars are there?" he asks, stepping behind Iwaizumi to look at the marks on his back. Iwaizumi hears him suck in a deep breath.

"Three," he lies, because of course he's counted before, and of course he can't tell Oikawa.

"You're such a liar, Iwa-chan," Oikawa says, his voice soft and patient, but Iwaizumi doesn't trust the forced gentility in his voice. "I've counted at least five by now. Where did these come from?" A moment passes before Iwaizumi finds his tongue, before he finally makes his decision as to whether to speak or not.

"I think you know," he says at last, his voice deliberately calm, and with a note of finality in his tone. He hears Oikawa's voice shake as he answers, simply: " _I know_."

Then Oikawa returns to his original place in front of him, and suddenly there are unshed tears in his eyes, and suddenly he is in Iwaizumi's arms. "I'm sorry, Iwa-chan," he cries, and now there is real emotion in his voice - he is at breaking point, and although Iwaizumi does not like knowing that he was the one who had sent him there, it is a painful relief to finally see Oikawa let go of his mask.

"Sorry for what?" Iwaizumi asks, and he winces at the bitter edge to his voice. He knows that little of this is Oikawa's fault, that Oikawa would never willingly put him in danger, but his scars ache and his wound throbs and somehow, he can't fully keep the bitterness out of his voice. And yet he knows that he would do it all over again, that if he had a chance to start over he'd do the exact same thing. No matter how many knives he takes to the arm, no matter how many times he has to bear the blow of an enraged slave, the moment he sees Oikawa's frightened, relieved face safe and sound before him, it's worth every single sacrifice he's made.

"I'm sorry for everything," Oikawa whispers, his lips caught tightly in his teeth, tears leaking sporadically from the corners of his eyes. He's an ugly crier, with snot streaming from his nostrils and his harsh, choking sobs, but at this moment in time, right now, Iwaizumi has never before seen him look so beautiful. "I'm sorry you had to suffer because I was a selfish brat, Iwa-chan - I'm sorry for not listening to you whenever you scolded me, because I always thought that that would never happen, that the people loved me - " His hands trail almost…  _shyly_  over Iwaizumi's body, leaving goosebumps in the wake of his movements, tracing invisible, secret patterns over the raised, ridged scars. He looks into Iwaizumi's eyes, and the light glances off the shine in his eyes. He looks painfully vulnerable, and painfully afraid.

"And these scars are my fault, Iwa-chan, they're  _my fucking fault_  and it's my fault that you've been hurt so many times and - and Iwa-chan,  _I'm so sorry_."

Iwaizumi sighs, because although he might be hard on Oikawa sometimes - okay,  _most_  times, he concedes - he really has a soft spot for Oikawa, even if he doesn't want to admit it, and seeing him this broken and beat down isn't something he enjoys. So he catches hold of Oikawa's shoulders and shakes him, fiercely. Oikawa stops his rambling, and stares, open-mouthed and bewildered, at Iwaizumi.

" _Listen to me_ ," Iwaizumi says, fiercely, firmly. " _None of this is your fault_. What I choose to and not to do is entirely of my own volition. I chose to shield you and I took an oath to honour that promise. It’s not your fault that I chose to - "

(and this time he almost says the word ‘ _love_ ’, he almost lets it slip, almost lets it fall out of his mouth and land softly in Oikawa’s arms, but he knows that do to so would be folly - )

“That I chose to protect you.” This time he means it, means every single fucking word of it, and Oikawa must have sensed the genuine emotion and the softening of his tone, because all of a sudden his shoulders slacken and he turns his face away from Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi can see the tips of his ears turn red, but as he hears the deepening and calming breaths Oikawa is taking, he lets out a sigh.

"I promise," Oikawa mumbles, his voice small, and Iwaizumi blinks. “What?”

Then Oikawa whirls around, and Iwaizumi flinches back at the sight his eyes, bright and burning and determined. "You won't  _ever_  have to bear a blow for me again, Iwa-chan," he cries, his voice clear and ringing like the call of a horn, summoning troops to war. "I'll be the one protecting you this time round, and now..." His fingers trail across the long scar that slashes across Iwaizumi's abdomen, and Iwaizumi watches him with a kind of dumbfounded mesmerism. Oikawa pulls his bottom lip between his upper row of teeth, showing his small, pearly canines, and releases it with a pop. It's puffy, cherry-red, and suddenly, Iwaizumi wants to kiss him.

They stand in silence for a while, just staring at each other and revelling the burn of each other's gaze, then Oikawa abruptly stumbles back to the bed and covers his face with his arms. Iwaizumi can see the dark flush spreading across his cheekbones, his ears, the blush he is unsuccessfully trying to hide, and he has to push down a weary smile of amusement.

"What do you wish of me now?" Iwaizumi asks, wondering if he can leave. The curtains are fluttering slightly in the cool night breeze, and the stuffy odour has cleared somewhat, leaving the room with a fresh, clear smell. The plush richness of the blanket suddenly seems very tempting, and he has to resist the urge to plant himself face down on the bed.

"You can retire to your room," Oikawa says, his voice high and muffled. He sounds sulky, petulant, and Iwaizumi cannot resist letting out a soft chuckle. He sees one chocolate brown eye peek out warily, sullenly, from the gap in between Oikawa's slim, pale arms, and he has to turn away to hide the rest of the laughter bubbling up in his chest. He responds to Oikawa's command with a cough and a grunt, and turns to leave. His hand is on the doorknob of the connecting door leading to his own chamber, when Oikawa's voice arrests him once more.

"I wish to talk to the man who tried to kill me tomorrow," he says, his voice quiet. Iwaizumi pauses, and his entire body stiffens. He turns his head slowly back to Oikawa. "And that would be because...?"

Oikawa sighs, a long, drawn-out, dramatic sigh. "To talk to him, of course!" he says, a chiding note in his voice.

Iwaizumi hears these words, and a cautious exhilaration begins to spread through him, sparking his every nerve ending, sending thrills down his spine. He wonders if it can possibly be true - if it is actually possible that, at last, Oikawa is opening his heart to the people of his country. He manages to push down his ecstasy and retain an impassive front. He cannot, however, quite keep himself from delivering a last parting shot.

"I'm looking forward to that, Oikawa," he says softly, gently, and then opens the door and strides out.

***

The guard on duty stiffens to attention when he sees Iwaizumi, but Iwaizumi carelessly motions for him to relax. He turns to Oikawa. "What you'll see here," he says carefully, trying to pick the right words, because of course Oikawa's never been exposed to the castle dungeon in which spies, ruffians and the general filth of the nation reside, awaiting execution. He's never been exposed to the dark side of life, although it doesn't mean that he's never  _tried_  to be. "What you'll see here might be a little bit... _disturbing_."

Oikawa bites his lip, but doesn't respond. Despite the dank odour of the jail cells and the general atmosphere of hopelessness, he doesn't seem fazed. But Iwaizumi supposes that's to be expected - he has no illusions about the lengths to which Oikawa's curiosity will bring him, not when he's caught him trying to sneak down to the dungeons umpteen times and has had to give him a strict talking-to.

Still, it is a daunting experience for a first time, and Iwaizumi senses Oikawa shudder reflexively beside him as they stride quickly through the central corridor. He feels the burn of the prisoners' gazes on his back, the resentful, festering stares of the men in chains or hanging off iron pegs in the wall.

One man, bound only by handcuffs and a chain to his ankle, hisses a vulgar curse at Oikawa as he walks past. Oikawa stares at him, as he would at an animal in a menagerie, and he takes a fascinated, almost-unconscious step towards him, but Iwaizumi grabs his arm and pulls him back to the safety of the light. The man snarls, pulling his lips back over his to reveal yellow, sharpened teeth, and fades back into the darkness. Iwaizumi remembers him; he's a notorious slave trader, known for 'breaking in' young slaves, but despite all his sins, the only reason why he's here is because he'd tried to cheat the king of a paltry sum of money. He’s not condemned to death, of course, because his services are still required to satisfy the king's rather unusual... _tastes_ , but he's stuck here till his syndicate pays a sum of money. And obviously, they don't give a fuck about his life.

"Don't go there," Iwaizumi grates out harshly, looking at Oikawa and seeing the last dregs of bewilderment and fascination fading away from his eyes. "You'll never escape from the darkness once you're sucked in." Oikawa stares at him for a few brief moments, then he smiles, a surprisingly sweet smile. "But you'll be there to pull back into the light, won't you, Iwa-chan?" he says, his fingers wrapping slyly around Iwaizumi's wrist. Iwaizumi shakes him off irritably, and continues stalking down the corridor.

They reach the assassin's cell without further incident. He is kneeling on the floor in the middle of the dank, dark cell, with head bowed, and the high arch of his black hair casting a deep shadow over his face. He doesn't look up when they enter, but Iwaizumi sees the features of his face shift, and realises that he's smiling.

His entire demeanour communicates blatant disrespect, and Iwaizumi's usual response would be to march forward and force the man's head upwards to face him, but for some reason, he doesn't. Oddly, and for the first time in his life, he feels that Oikawa is completely in command of the situation, and so he does not make his own judgement, but trusts in Oikawa's own.

Oikawa steps forward, his eyes fixed on the man. Today, he is clad in a plain white kaftan, not overly elaborate, with a simple translucent veil covering his face. Iwaizumi had been proud of him that morning, prouder than he could ever say, when Oikawa had forgone the elaborate luxury robe proffered to him by his slaves that morning, in favour of this more reserved one, quoting "a desire not to incense nor offend his quarry" as his reason. Iwaizumi marvels at how much he had matured over the last day, and wonders idly what had been the straw that had broken the camel's back. Perhaps Oikawa is simply tired of having to bear the enmity and hate of the people for his father's sins, and no longer finds amusing the game he has made of it (a possibly not that far off, given the prince's frivolous leanings). Or perhaps it is just that he has finally grown up. Iwaizumi dearly hopes that it is that latter possibility that holds the truth.

"What is your name?" Oikawa asks, as he steps towards the prisoner. He is now within striking distance, and although the man is burdened down with heavy steel chains, if he were strong enough, he could surge up and quite possibly kill the prince with his bare hands. Iwaizumi tenses, stepping forward to intervene, but Oikawa holds up a hand to stop him.

"What is your name?" he repeats, when the man does not answer. In reply, the man inhales, and spits violently at Oikawa's feet.

Oikawa does not flinch, even when the globule of spit lands squarely on the tip of his wooden sandals. Instead, he steps forward, even closer, and repeats his question.

Finally, the man lifts his head. He has a handsome face, with clear-cut features, hooded dark eyes, and a strong, aquiline nose. His hair is messy, rising high above his head in a crest and falling untidily over his right eye. He stares at Oikawa for a heartbeat, then a sardonic smile slices his face in two.

"Kuroo," he rasps, his voice husky from disuse. "My name is Kuroo, and I have come from the region of Seijou to kill you." He makes a sudden movement, as if to spring up and seize Oikawa, but Oikawa steps forward, and somehow that arrests his movement, and he watches Oikawa warily, as a cobra watches a snake-charmer and weaves to follow the swaying of his pipe.

"Why have you come to kill me?" Oikawa asks, his voice languid, silky, coaxing. The man drops his head so his face is covered in shadow once more.

"People are starving," he says, slow and unemotional. "People are dying, paying the penalty of your father's tyrannical rule. Crops in the fields wither, while your father increases the burden of taxes day after day and demands more and more grain to fill the royal granary." He lifts his head, and stares Oikawa straight in the eye. "It is a common saying among us that, while the strings holding the coins together in the royal treasury have rotted from lack of use, the bodies of the dead and starving peasants are rotting in the fields as they work. While we pay the price for the richness of the country, all the royals do is enjoy the fruits of our labour. The jewels on your sedan and the gold leaf weaved into your clothes are paid for by our labour and our labour only, and while you frivolously spend the money we have  _died_  to give you, you spare no thought for our lives and our troubles."

There is silence for a heartbeat after he speaks. then he begins again, and now his tone holds derision. "You and your father and the dukes of this kingdom are cut from the same cloth, even if it seems that the people love you more. Oppressors, tyrants, murderers, all of you, and we of the revolution will end you all. This is only the beginning."

So he  _was_  part of the revolution. Iwaizumi chafes at his forced inactivity, longing to take the questioning into his own hands, but Oikawa gives him a warning glare that keeps him pinned to the spot. Now, Oikawa squats down, so he is at the man's eye level. Iwaizumi curses under his breath - it is a dangerous move, one that could very well cost him his life, but Oikawa is not stupid, and, surprisingly, Iwaizumi trusts his judgement today.

"I want to help you," he says seriously, looking into the assassin's eyes. "Tell me your grievances, and I will help you."

"Ha!" The man laughs condescendingly, and spits again, but this time right in Oikawa's face. Oikawa, however, doesn't even blink, and calmly wipes the spit off his cheek with the back of his hand. "I mean what I say," Oikawa persists, his eyes wide and sincere. "I - want - to -  _help_." He takes the hand of the assassin, one of the hands that are weighed down with heavy metal chains, and turns to Iwaizumi.

"Iwa-chan," he calls, and Iwaizumi snaps to attention. "Give me the key." Both Iwaizumi and Kuroo start violently, staring at Oikawa. In Iwaizumi's case, it's more because he's wondering if Oikawa's crazy, but then he notices the astonishment and awe in Kuroo's face, and wonders if that had been Oikawa's plan all along.

He opens his mouth to protest, but the look in Oikawa's eyes is meaningful, forceful, and, as though hypnotised by the magnetism of his haze, Iwaizumi obeys his order, and calls for Watari, the guard outside, to come in. He takes the keys from the frightened and bewildered guard, and waits for him to leave before passing them to Oikawa.

Oikawa carefully unlocks the chains one by one, even the ones on Kuroo's feet. Iwaizumi moves closer to Oikawa, expecting the man to go for Oikawa's throat the moment he is free, but instead, Kuroo simply stands, massaging the red circles on his wrists and stretching his neck, his joints popping and cracking. He stares at Oikawa, although a wary note has crept into his demeanour.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asks, cautiously, staring into Oikawa's eyes. They are of almost equal height, although Kuroo is a slight bit taller. Oikawa holds his gaze with equanimity, and Kuroo stiffens, but he does not look away.

"I mean that you are a free man," Oikawa says simply, and he steps to the door, opening it. "You may go wherever you wish, and you may do whatever you want. I give you leave to try and kill me again, if that is truly what you want."

Kuroo glares at him for a few moments more. "How do I know this isn't a trap?" he says at last, suspiciously, although Iwaizumi notices that he is slowly inching his way towards the door, towards freedom. Iwaizumi keeps a hand on his sword, just in case. "How do I know that you won't have someone follow me back to my home, and kill the rest of my family?"

Oikawa sighs, clicking his tongue impatiently. "Now, why would I want to do that?" he says, his lips pouting. "Your family has done nothing wrong. No, I'm setting you free out of goodwill, and goodwill only." He smiles, a brilliant, playful smile, and Kuroo winces involuntarily. "But on one condition."

Kuroo stops moving, his entire body still. He turns, slowly, till his entire body is facing Oikawa. "And... that would be...?"

"You arrange a meeting for me outside the palace, with the leader of your revolution," Oikawa says calmly, as though what he's saying isn't completely and utterly irrational. "I wish to join your cause, and fight against my father."

Kuroo blanches, his face twisting with shock. "What?"

Iwaizumi steps closer, feeling that Oikawa has gone too far, and it is the time to intervene. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he hisses, and deliberately keeps his voice audible. "This is absolute madness. The revolution is not a game; _these people are out for your blood_. It's not something for you to play around with!"

Oikawa brushes him aside, waving his hand and forcing in to step back. He takes Kuroo's hand, even when the man flinches and makes as if to draw back, and continues earnestly. "Arrange for me a meeting with your leader, and I will come without bodyguard or any form of arms. You may choose to kill me at that time, but I assure you, I am ready and willing to join your revolution, and I have much to offer. I can win the loyalty of the royal army and that of the Royal Guard, and I can give you valuable information regarding the workings of the palace." He grips Kuroo's hand tight, and bites his lip, looking straight into Kuroo's dark eyes. "Will you trust me, and give me a chance of redemption, to cleanse the land of the sins that my father has wreaked upon the people?"

Kuroo inhales deeply, then nods, a short, sharp movement. "I can do that much for you," he says, his voice harsh and grating. "I will find a way to contact you. Remember the promises you have made today, and you will regret it if you make any violations."

Oikawa nods seriously, and gestures for Watari. "Escort this man to the outer gate, and  _do not let anyone see him_ ," he says. "He is to be set free, and no tail is to be put upon him. He is a free man. Do you understand?"

Watari hesitates, a protest on the tip of his tongue, but then he thinks better of it, and warily takes Kuroo's arm. They walk out of the cell, and are lost to sight. The moment they leave, Iwaizumi seizes Oikawa's arm and almost slams him on the wall in his fury.

"Shittykawa," he growls out. " _What the fuck did you think you were doing_?"

"Asking to join the revolution," Oikawa says, innocently, his eyes wide. "Dear me, Iwa-chan, I thought you would have realised that by now!"

"I'm not joking, Oikawa," Iwaizumi roars. "You put yourself in unnecessary danger, when I could have conducted the interrogation and found out the name of the leader of the revolution myself, since you seem so interested in it! There was no need for you to put yourself in so much danger!"

Oikawa places a hand against his chest, and gently pushes him away. "I can't have you taking care of me all the time now, Iwa-chan," he whispers, and suddenly his voice is sharp and bitter and painfully reminiscent of the night before. "You've gotten hurt too many times, doing precisely that. I'm not going to let you get hurt for my sake again. Besides, I want to earn their trust, and sic’ing my guard and various torture implements on one of their compatriots isn't the way to go." Then he walks out of the cell, pausing when Iwaizumi does not follow him.

"Iwa-chan?" he calls, the question mark bringing a lilt to his voice. "Are you coming? I'm going to Seijou, to get Makki's help. I think I'll need it."

Iwaizumi exhales, a long, tired sigh, and follows him. Oddly, despite the strangeness of the interrogation and the adrenaline rush from the various perils Oikawa had thrown himself into head first, Iwaizumi feels strangely light, and again, there is a skip in his step as he follows Oikawa out. Perhaps, just perhaps, he thinks dazedly, there is a chance for redemption, for Oikawa, at long last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KUROO HAS APPEARED yay also if any of u spot typos/grammar issues/inaccuracies please drop me a line! I'm not the best at proofreading and I don't have a beta so I'd appreciate the help :)  
> Thanks for reading, comments and kudos are love <3 Also, [tumblr](http://kitcatkandy.tumblr.com/)


	7. Kageyama - Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god this chapter is so late but i sprained my foot and then a thousand and one things happened and here we are. three weeks late.
> 
> (chapter was deleted for some reason omg so this is republished)

Kageyama is curious.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi have been slipping out recently during palace hours, and he doesn't know why. They've tried to keep it secret, unnoticed, but  _he's_ seen them sneak out of the castle doors, dressed in long, flowing cloaks that cover their faces and bodies and hide their identity. He himself hadn't known who they were in the beginning, until he'd actually, quite by accident, seen them slipping through the corridors, pulling on their cloaks and heading towards the entrance. Now, he's curious, and very confused.

Kageyama wonders where they could be going, so often and so surreptitiously. He had asked Kunimi about it before, but the guard had just shrugged and said that Iwaizumi had told them nothing and given no orders, except not to tell the king or any of the other royals. Kageyama wonders what they're doing, and his curiosity is piqued.

So, one day, he slips out after them, Kunimi reluctantly following behind after a few cursory tries at dissuading him. Kageyama hides near their door at the customary hour until he sees Oikawa and Iwaizumi walking through the hallway, pulling on their long cloaks and looking about surreptitiously, then going straight towards the entranceway. He hangs back, hiding behind pillars and dashing behind doors when they seem to turn behind and finally manages to follow them to the palace gates. He slips his own dark cloak over his head, and waits for a few moments after they walk through the gates, Iwaizumi giving a brief nod to the guards on duty, before making a move himself.

He keeps his head down, but still the guard bars his way, and looks questioningly at Kunimi, also clad in his own forest-green cloak. The latter sighs impatiently, and takes the guard aside to speak to him for a while. When they return, Kageyama and Kunimi are waved through, and they dash out, trying to look for Oikawa and Iwaizumi.

Thankfully, the two of them are still visible on the foggy road, their cloaks swishing restlessly and stirring up the dust on the street. They follow them quietly, unobtrusively, following them all the way into the city of Aoba Johsai, the city for which the sultanate is named.

The city is lush and thriving, it's main street packed with vendors and street salesmen displaying their wares. Oikawa and Iwaizumi stop at a nearby stall for a moment and exchange a few, brief words with the stallholder, before Oikawa picks up one juicy red apple and Iwaizumi hands over a couple of coins. Oikawa's teeth flash pearly-white as he bites into the pale flesh of the apple.

They continue on, and Kageyama cautiously follows them on, maintaining a distance behind. He cannot imagine what would happen if he were to be discovered - Oikawa would most likely yell at him, and Iwaizumi too. But he cannot imagine what urgent business would bring them out here, what serious matter would urge them to take so many clandestine trips out of the palace and into the city. He wonders if they're perhaps visiting a brothel, and quickly dismisses the thought. Oikawa has his own harem, and besides, such a matter does not require such secrecy as they were exhibiting now. Anyway, he thinks too highly of Iwaizumi to summon such baseless accusations to his mind.

They walk on, and steadily the scenery grows darker and more squalid. They had turned off the main street ages ago, taking some small alleyway and side path which had led to what seemed to be the city ghetto. There are homeless men lying at the side of the path, their legs sticking out to bar the way, their eyes glaring insolently at whoever passes. One of them reaches out, leering, towards Oikawa, but Iwaizumi bats his hand away and pulls Oikawa swiftly past. Kageyama cannot see Iwaizumi's face, but he feels a strange pang in his chest, as he notices the way Oikawa's chin lifts, and the way his eyes gleam a little brighter as he turns a dazzling, teasing smile towards Iwaizumi.

Kageyama is starting to get tired, and Kunimi is looking about anxiously - or, at least, as anxious as he can possibly get. There are probably a thousand and one possible dangers lurking about them, but Kageyama disregards them, and follows on. Now, his curiosity has turned into an absolute determination to find out where Oikawa and Iwaizumi are heading - he has absolutely got to know, and it doesn't help that, right now, the two of them are picking up the pace, and the lamp lights are getting fewer, and a light mist is starting to settle over the path. He can barely see their figures now, and only the broad outline of Iwaizumi's shoulders against the murk is keeping them in his field of vision.

They turn one last corner, and Kageyama comes to an abrupt stop as he heard their footsteps halt. He peeks cautiously around the corner, and jerks back quickly as he sees them talking to another man standing in front of a dilapidated shop building. They speak for a few more moments in hushed voices, then the man bows his head and lets them pass. They climb the stairs up, and are lost to view.

Kageyama heaves a sigh of disappointment. He wonders if that's a guard, and if he can possibly get past - a situation which, admittedly, is highly unlikely. He glances over the building, running his eyes over the rotten adobe bricks, the peeling plaster, and decides that there is no way in except by the main doorway. There is a small alleyway that likely leads behind the shop-house, but the guard is staring so intensely around that it would be suicide to attempt such a route. Viciously, Kageyama slams one fist into the other and expels a violent breath of disgust.

He turns to Kunimi, ready to leave, and is surprised to see his eyes flash green like a cat's. He stares directly into Kageyama's eyes, and something twists in Kageyama's chest.

"You're not going to try to get in?" he asks, and his tone is deliberately mocking. Kageyama blanches, and he feels his eyebrows snapping down over his brows, creating his trademark scowl. "There's no way in," he hisses vehemently. "That's a guard, isn't he? He won't let us in."

Kunimi scrutinises the outside of the building carefully. His previous apathy and reluctance has already disappeared, and now, he seems to be just as curious as Kageyama about the destination of his senior and the prince.

"That probably leads to the back of the building," he murmurs under his breath, pointing to the alleyway. A stinging retort hovers on Kageyama's lips, and he yearns to point out that  _of course he's considered that route, he's not a bloody idiot_ , but something in Kunimi's gaze halts the acerbic words. Kunimi’s manner may be abrasive, and the man himself someone Kageyama cannot absolutely stand, but still, he’s no fool.

They stare at the alleyway in unison for a few moments, then Kunimi heaves a long, exaggerated sigh, and shoves his hand through his hair. "Go on. I'll distract the guard while you figure out a way to get up there," he points at the second level of the building, "from behind the shop."

Kageyama stares at him in confusion for a few seconds, then as the other's words register in his mind, he gives a curt nod of acknowledgement. Kunimi slides his scimitar back into his scabbard, and saunters up carefully, to the guard.

"Excuse me," he says, his voice so bland that it would have been hilarious in any other situation but this one. "I've lost my way, mind telling me where the central plaza is?"

The guard frowns warily, and jabs a violent thumb back a small dirty side alley over to the right. Kunimi glances over, then turns back to the guard, his mouth twisting. "I came from that way," he persists. "That's not the way to the central plaza."

The guard frowns again, this time more fiercely, and he stalks over to the alleyway. He peers into it suspiciously, then gestures for Kunimi to go. "This is the way," he growls, gesticulating wildly. "Go that way, take a left, and you'll be at the plaza. Come now, begone with you."

Kunimi wanders cautiously over, staring into the alleyway. He turns doubtful eyes to the guard, and persists, "I'm sure that's not the way to the plaza, I told you, I just took the left and I ended up here..."

Kageyama doesn't waste any more time hanging around, and slips past the guard's back and into the small side path that leads behind the building. The two-storey shop-house is derelict and obviously in need of some repairs, but Kageyama doesn't spot any other guards on duty. He eyes the window on the top storey, the glass broken and the windowsill peeling. It looks like it would come off at a mere push.

Kageyama scans his surroundings. Some of the adobe bricks in the wall jut out conveniently, but the moment he tests his weight against one it promptly breaks off and falls to the ground. Kageyama shudders - it wouldn't be a glamorous way to die, falling off a rotted brick to his death and breaking his neck on the rocks of a cold, gravel path, but it seems to be the only way up. Steeling his nerve, he grabs hold of one of the sturdier-looking bricks, and hastily scales the wall. He reaches the ledge near the window relatively-quickly, although, as he looks down at the shuddering path of bricks he has left behind, he isn't so sure how he'll get down.

There are voices coming out of the crack in the window, but Kageyama can't hear clearly enough. His curiosity has already been piqued to the maximum, and so, ruthlessly, he pries out the small dagger in the hidden sheath of his cloak, and carefully teases one of the intact shards out of the window. It drops accidentally to the ground, however, and he winces involuntarily as it shatters with a piercing scream, on the cobblestones below.

His heart stops as he suddenly hears the voices inside halt, cautiously, and now he can hear a man's voice, lowered with suspicion: "What was that?"

Then he hears Oikawa's high tenor. He sounds impatient. "It's just one of the bricks falling to the ground," he says quickly. "This rotten building won't last a week, I've told you that."

The man's voice sounds again, and Kageyama holds his breath and his body tenses up as he hears footsteps, slow and deliberate, come towards the window.

"I'll check," the man says, a hint of a snarl in his voice. "Can't hurt to be too careful."

Kageyama grips on with a death grip onto the ledge, and wonders feebly if he might have to crawl along the side of the building like a giant spider, to avoid what seems like his inevitable death and mutilation at the hands of the angry crowd inside. His hand closes around the hilt of the dagger, fingers tightening until his knuckles turn white. He hears the man's footsteps stop right next to him, and he cannot breathe.

Then Oikawa's voice sounds again, with a tinge of petulance and impatience. "We don't have all day, Ukai-san," he says. "We must return to the palace, or we will be missed." The man is so close that Kageyama can hear his stilted breathing and the rustle of his clothes as his body moves restlessly, but after a tense few seconds he growls out an angry sound of assent and marches stiffly back inside the room.

Kageyama breathes a sigh of relief. For once, he thanks the gods for Oikawa's presence on earth, and his usually-insufferable obliviousness. He adjusts his position carefully to hear better, and the creaking of wooden chairs and the hushed voices assures him once again that all is well.

"Well, _prince_ ," comes the gruff, deep voice of the man who had walked to the window, the man apparently named 'Ukai', " _We've_ finalised the plans on our end. What about the promises you made?" His tone is distinctly hostile, and Kageyama can picture the expression on Oikawa's face which is probably making him so antagonistic. Oikawa has a tendency to provoke others into aggression and anger, and Kageyama’s been on the receiving end too many times to underestimate how annoying Oikawa can be.

"Well..." Oikawa's voice is deliberately-pitched, the word long-drawn and carefully enunciated. "I have been speaking to the commanders of the various battalions - in secret, of course - and many of them are dissatisfied with the rule of my father the sultan. I have the promised support of half of the battalions who swear to fight for the revolution. As to the other half..."

Kageyama almost lets a vulgar curse escape him, at his astonishment. So Oikawa has joined the revolution, and Iwaizumi too? This is something he had never foreseen, and certainly something he had never expected. When it comes to the prince's bodyguard he is not so shocked, as he has often heard of Iwaizumi’s occasional remonstrations with Oikawa to change his selfish ways or end up like the king, something which seemed to indicate a dislike of the current regime. However, when it comes to the frivolous and inconstant Oikawa, the revelation that he's actually starting to take an interest in the lives of the people around him and starting to care about something beyond his own personal bubble... Kageyama almost falls off the ledge in his disbelief. He is even more determined to hear more of the conversation now, and judge for himself the extent to which the rebellion has stretched, and how far involved Oikawa is.

There is a soft creak as Oikawa presumably adjusts his chair, and the answering clink of the weapons of the men inside. Oikawa pauses, then very deliberately, continues on. "As to the other half, they fear retribution at the hands of the king. It will take a few months more, at most, for me to convince them to join the cause. When we are finished with that we will be able to move on to commanding the support of the Royal Guard. My bodyguard here is its captain, and he assures me that the guards will willingly turn against the royal family."

Kageyama feels his heart skip a beat. He is utterly-bewildered - never before has he heard Oikawa speak so sensibly, and with so much maturity before, even when they had been discussing politics with their father. He wonders what could possibly have happened to change Oikawa's personality so drastically, and wonders if it had been something to do with the failed assassination of the five days prior.

There is silence for a few moments while his words are processed, then Ukai speaks again, and this time there is a distinct contempt and anger in his voice. "These are pretty words you speak," he snarls, "but how do we know that they are of substance?"

Kageyama heard Iwaizumi's strong voice cut in and begin to speak, but suddenly there is a loud and violent bang and the crash of what can only be a chair falling to the ground. "What do you have planned for when the revolution passes,  _prince_?" Ukai spits, the derision in his voice more evident than ever. "I have been wondering right from the beginning of our association as to what your motives are. No mere royal would throw himself to the support of the peasants without an ulterior motive. Do you seek to claim the throne for yourself and rule with a fist more iron than that of your father the king? Do you seek to wrest power from the hands of a father you do not love and seat yourself where he now stands? Do you seek to utilise the pain and the protest of the people to your own means? Answer me,  _prince_!"

Kageyama tenses as he hears the familiar metallic screech as Iwaizumi draws his scimitar out of its scabbard. He wonders if he should leap in to assist him and his brother in what seems to be a wholly unequal fight, but then Oikawa's voice rings out again, this time clear, high and strong, and suddenly Kageyama is transfixed by the purity and light of his voice.

He speaks of how he has seen the plight of the people, how he has, first-hand, experienced the vicious and unyielding iron hand of his father, a father who had never really loved him and who spent his life tearing the lives of others apart. He talks of how he will change things, how he will stand by the rights of the peasants and watch over their lives and make sure that they are given all that they deserve, and more. He waxes eloquent on how life under him will change for the better, a vision of an Aoba Johsai where there will be a full-grown goat for every single household, where the crops in the fields will grow tall and elegant, where the traders from countries and far beyond will travel the Silk Road through their great nation and bring wealth untold to every citizen once again. The charisma in his voice is apparent, the magnetism that holds his listeners fast, and Kageyama cannot do anything more than listen.

At the end of Oikawa’s rhetoric, he is breathing hard and fast, and there is absolute silence. Kageyama feels his heart constrict, and he unconsciously places his palm over his chest.

Today, all his illusions are being broken - he had never thought that Oikawa could be or  _would_  be so well-spoken, so charismatic in his words, and he feels a strange emotion begin to cloud his vision and pull at his heartstrings. His other hand grips on tight to the ledge, and he presses closer to the window to hear more.

The silence persists for a few more moments, a silence fraught with surprise and shock, but then the chairs are replaced, and Ukai's voice holds a reluctant respect when he speaks again. His voice is as hoarse and discordant as ever, but there is a queer note in it as if the words are being forced out of his chest. "You speak of our dreams, prince," he says jerkily. "You speak of the things we desire the most, and the hopes we fight to fulfil. I will take your words, and may the gods damn you to hell if all you said today were nothing but filthy lies." His voice lacks its characteristic bite, however, and Kageyama distinctly feels the atmosphere of the room relax.

They move on to discussing tactics and their plans, and Kageyama listens till the end. He hears of the planned march on the palace, how it is to be scheduled for the autumn solstice of the next year, and of the growing forces of the peasant army, and all the while a strange feeling is growing in his chest, a feeling which threatens to burst out of his mouth and swallow his entire being. He only identifies it when he is clambering unsteadily down the wall and hurrying back to the entrance of the alleyway, to see Kunimi  _still_  arguing with an increasingly-infuriated guard, who has his blade half-drawn out already. The moment Kageyama slips safely back into the shadow of the side paths, he gestures to Kunimi, who breaks off the argument deftly and walks swiftly towards him.

Kunimi turns questioning eyes to Kageyama. He opens his mouth to speak, but suddenly, he checks himself - would Iwaizumi and Oikawa want their secret to be leaked out so nonchalantly? He hesitates. Perhaps it is better to wait, and see what happens. He shakes his head stubbornly, and Kunimi's eyes darken, but he says no more and simply gives a tight nod. Kageyama turns, and they stride back in the direction of the palace, Kageyama's mind a whirl of thoughts.

***

Kageyama waits in the hallway for Oikawa and Iwaizumi to return. It is almost sundown when they turn the corner and bump straight into him, their hooded cloaks already gone and their hair sticking up in sweaty clumps. Iwaizumi has a scratch on his cheek, and Kageyama imagines he must have gotten injured during the skirmish.

Swallowing hard, he stands and blocks their way. Oikawa rolls his eyes and pouts childishly, glaring daggers into him. "What is it, Tobio-chan?" he snaps, his posture unconsciously straightening and his chin automatically going up so he's practically looking down on Kageyama. Kageyama's tall, but Oikawa's taller, and he likes to use that height to his advantage.

Iwaizumi frowns absent-mindedly at him. "Kageyama," he says, kindly, "We're in a rush. So if you don't mind - "

"I want to speak to you about the revolution." He blurts out the words carelessly, almost recklessly, and immediately he wishes he could swallow them down again. Oikawa inhales and looks sharply at Iwaizumi, while the latter's entire body stiffens, and he darts anxious glances from side to side. Then he fixes his gaze on Kageyama, and this times his eyes are hooded, and dark, and so utterly menacing that Kageyama feels the urge to quail under his glare.

Softly, he reaches out and plucks a tiny shard of glass that has embedded itself in Kageyama's shirt-sleeve. Kageyama flinches involuntarily as he feels the gentle but dangerous brush of Iwaizumi's fingers against his shoulder, and he is reminded once again, that this is the captain of the Royal Guard, and he has license to kill.

"So it was you," Iwaizumi says, and his voice is quiet, but Kageyama does not make the mistake of taking it as pleasantry. He can feel the anger emanating off Iwaizumi in waves, and it is not wise to challenge him at all, so Kageyama does just that.

"Yes," he says, his voice deliberately provocative, "it was I." Iwaizumi's eyes darken even further, but his voice is still light.

"And what do you wish to do with the information you have gleaned?" he asks, and his fingers creep towards the scimitar on his belt.

"I want to join you," Kageyama says, boldly, lifting his chin in a display of defiance. "I want to join your cause."

Oikawa blanches, and clutches on tight to Iwaizumi's arm. "You can't!" he cries, shaking it wildly. "Tell him, Iwa-chan! Tell him he can't!"

Iwaizumi shakes him off irritably and continues staring at Kageyama, but this time his stare is full of disbelief. He blinks a few times, as if making sure that he's heard correctly, then his scowl deepens. "Why do you want to join us, Kageyama?" he asks. "It's no laughing matter. You - "

A sudden clatter from the gates startles them, and Iwaizumi seizes him swiftly by the arm. "It is not safe to speak here," he hisses, through clenched teeth. "We will continue this in my chamber. Come."

Kageyama lets himself be dragged along the hallway back into the inner palace, where they stride rapidly into Iwaizumi's small room beside Oikawa's. Here, Oikawa plops himself down huffily on the bed, crossing his arms and pouting. Iwaizumi seats himself down more carefully, and gestures for Kageyama to take the chair by the bed. Kageyama sits very upright, and keeps his legs and arms tightly shut together.

Iwaizumi runs his hand through his hair in agitation several times, before he finally shakes his head and sighs. "Why do you want to join the revolution, Kageyama?" he asks, and his voice is questioning.

Kageyama bites his lip. He himself had not thought thoroughly through his answer, having acted purely on impulse in waiting in the hallway for Oikawa and Iwaizumi. In his mind, there had only been the whirring of emotions, the confusion of thoughts and memories as he tried to make sense of Oikawa's sudden change in character, and what it meant  _for him._  It had been an entirely new and confusing turn of events, and even now he isn't quite sure what that broiling mess of feelings in his chest is.

All he knows is that, the moment he had heard Oikawa's voice ringing out in the quiet cold space of the old shop-house, it had roused something in him, something dark and latent and angry, that had yearned to rebel against the father who had shown him no love. And he wants to be part of that, part of that revolution.

"I want to help," he finally decides on saying, his voice low and honest. "I'm tired of hearing about all the things Father  _isn't_  doing, how the people are suffering, and I want to do something. About it. That, I mean." His words are slightly incoherent, rushing out in an unthinking flood as he tries desperately to give a name to the emotions bubbling over. His hands curl and uncurl unconsciously in the soft satin of his robes, and he has to make an active effort to stop his fingers from moving.

 Oikawa seizes Iwaizumi's arm and tugs him close. "Iwa-chan!" he hisses, right in Iwaizumi's ear. "You can't let him in! What can he bring? Nothing but inexperience, nothing but trouble!"

Iwaizumi brushes him off impatiently and turns back to Kageyama with a frown, his dark eyebrows slicing down in a harsh stroke across his eyes. "For once, I agree with Oikawa," he says, and the reluctance in his voice is palpable. "It's too dangerous. Even now you're in danger just from knowing about our place in the revolution. No," he holds up a hand to forestall Kageyama, who has opened his mouth to speak, "Not from us, but from others who might see you as a…  _threat_  to the security of the operation."

Kageyama scowls back, equally fiercely. Tenacity is one of his strengths, and he's not going to lose the argument here. "But that's why you should let me in on it," he presses. "Where safer to keep me, than close to your side? You could watch over me, seal my words, make sure nothing escapes me..."

"Those aren't the only dangers, Kageyama," Iwaizumi breaks in. "This is a military operation, and you know nothing of the military."

"I can fight," Kageyama says defiantly. "I'm not helpless. And I'm not  _inexperienced_." This he directs pointedly at Oikawa, who glares back with a sulky pout.

"There's no turning back if you decide to pull out," Iwaizumi continues on, disregarding Oikawa's attempts to cut in. "It's not a game, Kageyama. It's not something to get into because you're bored, or because you want to play around, or because..."

"It's not like that!" Kageyama shoots to his feet indignantly. He glares furiously back and forth between Iwaizumi's unreadable eyes and the sullen ones of Oikawa. Then he takes a deep breath, and goes on. "The truth is..." he begins haltingly. "I heard you speak, Oikawa-san."

At these words, Oikawa stops moving, and peeks suspiciously at him. Kageyama wants to bury his face in his hands. Never before has he ever considered  _complimenting_  Oikawa before, but then again, desperate times call for desperate measures. He continues resolutely, even though he feels an uncomfortable itch pushing at the base of his stomach.

"I heard you speak, Oikawa-san, and it sounded... It sounded good." He almost swallows the last word back into his throat, but manages to choke it out, even though the glint in Oikawa's eyes is gradually turning into maniacal glee. "Well, the long and short of it is that I'm touched, and I want to help."

He cuts it off abruptly, not wanting to flatter Oikawa any more than is necessary, since he already wants to strangle that smug smile off of Oikawa's face. Kageyama ignores Oikawa, and turns to Iwaizumi. He executes a short, quick bow, and stays rooted in that position, facing the floor, his lips pinched together tightly. "Please let me join you, Iwaizumi-san!"

There is utter silence in the room for a moment. Something unreadable flashes through Oikawa's eyes, thoughts, feelings,  _colours_  - then he yawns. He stretches his arms languorously above his head and turns a shuttered, bored look towards Iwaizumi. "Let him join," he says diffidently, and slyly cups Iwaizumi's knee. "It won't make a difference, and hopefully he'll manage to get himself killed along the way. How's that, Tobio-chan?"

Iwaizumi socks Oikawa in the gut and he doubles over, coughing and choking theatrically. Both Iwaizumi and Kageyama ignore him, and stare at each other for a long while. Iwaizumi seems to be sizing him up, raking his eyes over his body, running over the muscles of his arms and thighs. Then finally, he sighs, and averts his gaze. He looks very, very tired, and suddenly Kageyama remembers that he'd actually been injured the past week, and that this entire matter had, perhaps, taken quite a severe toll on him.

"Fine," he mutters, grabbing Oikawa by the arm and standing. "We'll bring you to meet the man in charge in two days - that's when our next meeting was scheduled. And don't," he glances back at Kageyama, and the look in his eyes is so quiet, and  _dangerous_ , that Kageyama shivers involuntarily. " _Don't you dare tell a soul_." Kageyama nods, his feet feeling a little unsteady, and he watches the two of them leave. Oikawa's still clutching his stomach and complaining petulantly, and Iwaizumi shakes him gruffly, but Kageyama notices that he's a little gentler, shakes a little softer. He wonders why watching the two of them seems to hurt so much sometimes.

When he finally hears the sound of their footsteps no longer, he decides it's safe to leave. Kunimi's been standing guard outside the whole time, having discreetly followed behind the trio as they made their way to Iwaizumi's chamber, and now he pokes his head in.

"Kageyama," he says, without preamble, his dark eyes as unreadable as ever. "Let's go. It's getting late." Kageyama heaves himself off the bed with a sigh, scowling at the unfamiliar way in which Kunimi's speaking to him. By right, such rudeness to any member of the Royal family is punishable by death, but Kunimi's been with been him for so long that it's simply unfathomable for Kageyama to report him to his superiors. It doesn't mean that he has to like it, though, and he  _doesn't_.

"By the way," Kunimi says casually, as they walk along the corridors on the way to the dining chamber in silence, "that little orange-haired slave you took such an interest in – something’s happened to him."

Kageyama almost trips over his feet in surprise, but manages to stay up by sheer force of will. He schools his features into his familiar black scowl, but inside his chest his heart is beating at a mile a minute. He turns impassive eyes – at least, he _hopes_ the expression on his face is impassive – and asks, in as nonchalant a tone as he can manage, “What’s happened to him? Something to do with my brother?”

“He’s in the infirmary,” Kunimi says, his eyes flicking up to watch Kageyama’s reaction. “During the parade he hit his head on the side of the sedan, was out like a light for a couple days now. A mild concussion.”

Kageyama feels his heart stop, and somehow he manages not to let his shock show. With a stiff nod, he waves away the sentiment, although the gleam in Kunimi’s eyes doesn’t allay his unease. He decides, privately, that when he goes to visit Hinata, Kunimi’s definitely not coming along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so updates will likely come more sporadically bc school is here and also exams T.T kagehina fluff next chapter!   
> [tumblr](http://kitcatkandy.tumblr.com/) comments and kudos are love!


	8. Hinata - Palace Politics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM NOT DEAD  
> but seriously this chapter was really hard to write and honestly I suck at writing fluff so it became sort of smutty halfway through im sorry

Hinata wakes up with a terrible headache.

His head feels like it’s going to split open any minute. When he opens his eyes, he has to blink a few times before the white marble of the ceiling swims into focus. He stares blearily at the striated patterns running through the rock, the deep, age-worn lines between the blocks, and wonders just what he’s doing here.

There is a faint clean smell in the air, a smell of honey and basil and the pungent odour of what smells like garlic. The faint sweet odour of mercuric chloride permeates the air, and Hinata lets out an involuntary sneeze. He gasps in sudden pain as the throbbing in his head starts anew.

“You’re finally up.” Hinata starts as he hears a soft, gentle voice from his elbow, and whips around. His hands instinctively grip on to the blankets and pull them up to his chest, and his large, hunted eyes peer warily out from the cocoon of sheets. The man standing beside him laughs. He has a sweet laugh, tinged with sunshine and light, and Hinata unconsciously relaxes.

“No need to be so scared,” the man chides, sitting down cautiously on the stool next to Hinata’s bed. He brushes his hand gently against Hinata’s forehead, and only then does Hinata realise that his forehead is wrapped up with cotton wool soaked with a cool, fragrant liquid. “How are you feeling?”

Hinata blinks a few times, and tries to speak. It takes a couple of tries before his voice stops grating. “My head… My head hurts,” he croaks, and hates how pitiful his voice sounds. The man smiles, and again Hinata feels that curious aura of peace and calm which radiates off him. He wonders at the way his muscles suddenly relax and go limp.

“I’m Sugawara, one of the royal healers, but you can call me Suga,” he says, his voice quiet and sweet. He carefully removes the bandage, and Hinata lets out an involuntary gasp as he feels his head suddenly go light. The heavy weight in his head suddenly falls off his shoulders, and he almost feels tears squeeze out of the corners of his eyes.

Sugawara hums in satisfaction. “Mmhm,” he murmurs reassuringly. “That feels better, doesn’t it, huh?”

Hinata studies him covertly out of the corner of his eye. Sugawara has soft grey hair, fluffy like a cat’s and there are laugh lines worn around the edges of his kind eyes. His mouth is small and pert, and as he talks, his hands move swiftly and professionally along Hinata’s forehead as he smooths another poultice over the wound.

“You had a pretty nasty fall,” Sugawara continues, his voice happy and calm, and Hinata feels his eyelids flutter. “Iwaizumi-san brought you in after the parade. It must have been pretty rough, mustn’t it?”

Hinata nods sleepily, lulled almost into slumber by Sugawara’s voice, then the mention of the captain of the guards permeates his sleepy consciousness. His eyes snap open, and he grips on tight to Sugawara’s thin wrist with a surprisingly-vice grip. “Is Iwaizumi-san okay?” he cries, his voice suddenly taut and high with fear. He remembers the trickle of blood down the guard’s arm, the thin blade of the knife embedded deep, too deep, into his shoulder, the look of shock and sudden agony contorting his face. Hinata shudders at the memory. “He was _bleeding_ , I saw him, is he badly hurt?”

Hinata is surprised at how much he cares, but as he stares into Sugawara’s surprised and sympathetic eyes, he realises that he _does_ care. Iwaizumi is one of the few people who’ve shown him any kindness at all in his time in the inner palace, and behind his dark, hooded eyes, Hinata has sensed passion and a deep, buried, _resigned_ anguish.

The past few days, whether Oikawa’s been fucking him hard into the satin of the bedsheets while he tries to keep his eyes shut tight, or whether he’s kept Oikawa’s cock thrusting violently between his lips while he tries not to puke, Iwaizumi’s always been a constant presence behind him, watching to make sure the prince doesn’t go too far. And when he does, it’s always been Iwaizumi who’s barked out a note of warning, stalked forward and aimed a threatening glare at Oikawa. Oikawa always listens to him, somehow, and Hinata finds that reassuring.

So when it comes to a matter of Iwaizumi’s safety, Hinata finds that it _does_ matter to him, that it _does_ matter to him very much indeed.

Sugawara’s eyes widen with startling comprehension, and his eyes soften even more. “Iwaizumi-san is fine,” he says soothingly, his hands leaving Hinata’s forehead and picking up a bowl of soup next to him. “It was a surface injury, that was all. Now, drink this. Asahi-san brought this for you.”

Hinata slurps the lentil soup gratefully, choking a little on the strong garlicky taste. Asahi did love his garlic, after all. He peers over the rim of the bowl when he finishes, narrowly watching Sugawara’s lithe figure moving comfortably between the cupboards and beds, leaning in past a curtain occasionally to murmur a greeting to the patient within. Sugawara straightens up and notices that he’s done with the soup.

“Tsukishima!” he calls over his shoulder. “Can you attend to Hinata? I’m changing Takeda-san’s dressings.”

Hinata opens his mouth to say, oh no, he can handle things himself, but suddenly his head starts throbbing again and he shuts his mouth abruptly. He sets the bowl of soup down shakily before he drops it, and huddles underneath the blankets. He’s suddenly very cold.

“Aww, is the little shrimp feeling cold?” Hinata jerks up as he hears the sardonic voice come from outside his safe haven inside the blankets. He glares viciously at the intruder.

“I’m not a shrimp,” he manages to jerk out, with as much dignity as he can muster with a bandage around his head. A strand of hair is in his eye, and it’s tickling him, but still, he forces himself to meet the condescending gaze of the tall man standing beside his bed.

A sarcastic smile slashes across the man’s face, and he adjusts the eyeglasses balanced precisely on his nose. “Sure you aren’t,” he says snidely, and picks up the bowl of soup Hinata’s placed precariously on the table.

Hinata reddens. Height’s always been a sensitive issue to him, and _of course_ this huge gorilla of a man would choose to pick on him for that. He scans the man’s back with furious eyes, quickly noting his pale blonde hair and the easy, slouching way in which he walks. Sugawara walks in just as Hinata’s trying to burn holes into the other man’s back with his gaze, and he laughs. He has a pretty laugh, and immediately Hinata feels warm again.

“Tsukishima riled you up, did he?” Sugawara says, reaching out and wiping Hinata’s forehead with a wet cloth. His voice is soothing, and Hinata unconsciously closes his eyes. “He doesn’t mean it, though. Don’t take what he says to heart.”

Hinata shakes his head stiffly to indicate that he’s _not_ , in fact, he’s not bothered by him at all, but suddenly Tsukishima’s smug voice returns, and Hinata’s fingers twitch.

“So I heard you got hurt falling around in the prince’s sedan? That sounds really _cool_ , shrimpy. Who you trying to impress, huh?” Hinata jerks up and glares at Tsukishima, and if looks could kill, the offensive blonde would be lying dead on the ground.

“I didn’t – it was an accident!” he protests hotly, and would have sprung up to throttle the life out of Tsukishima that very moment if Sugawara hadn’t pressed him down with surprising strength, and smiled sweetly at the other healer. Hinata shivers; somehow, this smile is different, and Tsukishima can sense it too, because his brow furrows and he stalks away huffily.

Sugawara turns his usual beatific smile on Hinata again, and once more Hinata is enraptured, fascinated by the way the older man’s eyes crinkle as he smiles.

“I’m sure you’re feeling much better,” he continues on patiently, his skilled fingers continuing to press gently on Hinata’s forehead. “It’ll only be a few more days before you’re able to resume your duties again. I hear the prince has been quite eager to have you back in his chambers once more.”

The words are spoken in a teasing, conspiratorial tone, but at the mention of Oikawa’s name, Hinata stiffens, and blanches involuntarily. Sugawara drops the cloth, and stares at him in surprise. Hinata shakes his head, and forces himself to relax. He presses Sugawara’s hand to his forehead again, and motions for him to continue on. Sugawara retrieves the cloth and continues the soothing motion, albeit with a little more caution than before.

“Asahi said that he’ll be coming to visit you soon,” he says, his other hand digging around in the drawers next to the bed. “And Iwaizumi-san has been in a few times to check on your health.”

“I’d like to see them both,” Hinata says, staring restlessly at the door. He’s been cooped up way too long, and although he’d been unconscious for the better part of his enforced bedrest, he still feels the stiffness and soreness of his muscles. He can smell the sweet scent of the lilies outside, the tangy odour of the honey from the honeycombs in the garden, and it makes him itch to go outside. Sugawara senses his agitation, and laughs.

“Relax,” he murmurs. “It’ll only be a few more days.”

***

Asahi comes to visit him the next day, and it’s only then that Hinata realises just how long he’s been living in the inner palace, and how much things have changed. There are a few burn marks on Asahi’s arm, and he’s holding it carefully aloft like it hurts. Hinata watches him walk in with round eyes, and would have jumped up to embrace him if not for the restraining hands of Sugawara. The healer looks up at Asahi with eyes that are, surprisingly, full of worry.

“Asahi,” he murmurs, his voice tight, and Hinata does a double-take. He looks between the two of them, and wonders if their relations are perhaps on the hostile side, but then he realises that Sugawara’s anxiety is not directed at the cook. There is a queer brightness in his eyes, a slight furrow in his thin brows, a restless agitation in the way his hands open and clench tight, and Hinata feels his chest tighten unconsciously.

Asahi directs a warm smile at Hinata, but Hinata notices how wan and tired it is. He wonders what could have happened to make the man so… _burnt-out_.

Asahi ambles forward and sits next to the bed, beside Sugawara. He asks after Hinata’s health, talks to him about trivial matters for a few minutes, before the conversation tails off, and the three of them sit there quietly looking at each other.

Suddenly, he takes the healer’s hand with his own, and Hinata notices how his fingers are trembling as well. “Suga, Daichi’s really leaving. He’s going back to his hometown in a few days’ time. I think his family’s joined the revolutionary movement, and I’m not sure if he’s going to as well.”

“Daichi?” Hinata exclaims involuntarily, and when the other two turn to him in astonishment, he wishes fervently that he could bite back his words, wondering if, perhaps, he shouldn’t have spoken at all. They were speaking of private matters, after all, none of his business, and besides, he didn’t _really_ know who this Daichi is. But then Kageyama’s face flashes across his memory, the reluctant softening of his eyes as he speaks of his nurse, and Hinata suddenly wants to know more.

“He’s Kageyama-san’s nurse, isn’t he?” he asks cautiously. “I heard about him from… from Kindaichi-san. He’s leaving to join the revolution?”

Sugawara and Asahi exchange glances, then Asahi bites his lip and nods hesitantly. He leans forward and looks around surreptitiously. Sugawara gets up on legs that aren’t quite steady, and draws the curtain close around them. He murmurs something into Asahi’s ear, and hurries off.

“You see, Hinata,” Asahi says quietly, his voice hushed, “things have been changing in the palace lately. There are rumours… that some of the royals have joined the revolution to overthrow the king, although nobody’s quite sure who. And some of the palace staff, well, you know, they’re taking sides.”

“Some of the royals?” Hinata exclaims, then ducks his head as Asahi shushes him frantically. He dips his head closer to Asahi conspiratorially, and repeats the question in a whisper.

“Some of the royals,” Asahi repeats slowly. “We just aren’t sure who.”

“And you, Asahi-san?” Hinata hisses. “What about you? Are you taking a side?”

Asahi blinks, and turns his head away. Now his features are shadowed, and Hinata can read his eyes no longer.

“Some of the staff have families outside the palace,” he murmurs, and his voice is muted and dull. “They have familial allegiances, while I – I have none.”

Hinata sighs, and leans back onto his pillow. His head is suddenly aching again, and somehow memories of the desert sand come back into his mind, memories of shifting sand dunes and rumbling caravans and ambling, amiable camels. He thinks of his own nurse, stony-eyed and cold-handed. He thinks of his mother, almost long-forgotten, and remembers the coarse softness of her hair. He thinks of his father, only a shadowy figure behind the curtain of the birthing caravan, and wonders to whom they’ll pledge their fealty. Instinctively, he’s sure they’ll take no sides, leaving the political tangles and trials to the city-folk, concerning themselves only with living and surviving and subsisting on the nothingness that the desert offers. Like Asahi, of familial allegiance – he has none, and he’ll take no sides.

Again, he remembers Kageyama’s dark eyes, and wonders if _he’ll_ ever take a side.

Asahi continues, although his voice is a soothing drone in the background to Hinata’s thoughts. “There are rumours that the people are gathering an army with numbers worthy of the royal battalions themselves. They say they’ll march on the capital, on the palace itself, and that they’ll kill every single man, woman and child they find within. They say the revolutionaries are monsters, full of anger and hatred against the monarchy and all who dare to work with them.” Here he pauses, and sighs, rubbing the palm of his hand against the back of his head.

“Do you believe what they say, Hinata?” he asks suddenly, and as Hinata looks at the familiar gentle droop of his eyes, the soft lines of his face, he shakes his head slowly.

“I don’t know… much,” he murmurs, “but I don’t think the revolutionaries are monsters. They’re people, after all.”

Sugawara opens the curtain and beckons Asahi out. Asahi waves goodbye to Hinata, and Hinata wonders why Sugawara’s eyes are tinted red.

***

Iwaizumi comes to visit a short while too, to check up on his health, and Hinata bugs him constantly the entire way through about the bandage on his shoulder. He asks Iwaizumi why he’s stopped wearing the long, voluminous clothes he used to wear, and the royal guard laughs lightly, saying that they now serve no further use to him. Hinata watches with wide eyes as Iwaizumi leaves, watches the shifting skin of his body dotted and crisscrossed with scars both large and small.

He’s been cooped up in the infirmary, forbidden from leaving by a very adamant Sugawara, although from the looks of it, he thinks Tsukishima might actually prefer it if he left his bed and his concussion flared up again. So he stays in his bed just to spite the sardonic blonde trainee.

Hinata feels absolutely bored, and the sound of the birds chirping happily outside his window isn’t helping. He’s about to go out of his mind, and he’s seriously considering making a noose out of his bedsheets just so he can snag the birds from his window, when, just at that moment, the door opens, and Kageyama walks in.

Hinata flinches, because of course Kageyama is the last person he would’ve expected to see, and really, he’s not in the mood for any argument right now. But there isn’t any animosity in Kageyama’s eyes, only a restive anxiety, and somehow that makes Hinata unafraid.

Contrary to Hinata’s expectations, Sugawara doesn’t snap to his feet in a bow – as is usually expected in the presence of a royal – and greets Kageyama calmly. He finishes wiping Hinata’s forehead, and wrings out the cloth into a bucket.

“Why are you here, Kageyama?” Sugawara says, his voice edged with a playful reprimand. “There isn’t anyone here you’d like to see, is there?”

Kageyama turns bright red, and Hinata giggles involuntarily. He immediately shuts up as the prince turns furious eyes on him, and tries to stifle his laughter in the palm of his hand. It doesn’t work, of course, but points to him for trying.

Sugawara turns to him, his eyes wide in surprise. Hinata calms himself. Of course his behaviour would seem extraordinary, Sugawara doesn’t know that they’ve met each other before, or that they’ve achieved easy familiarity in their relationship – at that thought, Hinata blushes involuntarily, and as he meets Kageyama’s eyes, he sees the reluctant hardness in them soften.

Kageyama’s guard, the one with the floppy dark hair, peers around Kageyama’s shoulders and directs a deadpan stare at Sugawara.

“He’s here to see the little slave, Sugawara-san,” he says, pointing at Hinata. “He didn’t know he was injured, or else he’d have come sooner, I think.”

“To see Hinata?” Sugawara’s brow creases. “But why…?”

Kageyama coughs abruptly, his cheeks tinged with a pale pink, and Sugawara blinks – then he sighs. He gathers up his things, and shuts the drawer next to Hinata’s bed. “Have it your way, Kageyama,” he sighs, then pins a surprisingly-steely glare on the prince. Hinata can practically see the latter quail.

“Don’t overexert him,” Sugawara says, and the words have an air of finality. “He’s not yet recovered, and I don’t want him to be put under any unnecessary strain. Got it?”

Kageyama nods, and it seems to Hinata to have a certain frantic quality to it. Apparently satisfied, Sugawara marches off. Kageyama’s guard whispers something to him, and retreats behind the door. Hinata and Kageyama are left staring awkwardly at one another, before Hinata clears his throat.

“You can sit down,” he mumbles, gesturing at the chair next to the bed. Kageyama coughs out something unintelligible, something that sounds like strangled assent, and ambles clumsily over to the chair. He plops his backside down firmly, and looks anywhere but at Hinata.

The blush on his high cheekbones is now so obvious that suddenly Hinata can’t stifle his laughter anymore, and he lets it burst out in full. Kageyama stares at him in shock for a moment, but as Hinata continues laughing at the confusion on his face, the hard slash of his brows slowly relaxes, and the corners of his mouth tease upwards.

“You look much better when you don’t frown, you know,” Hinata exclaims, boldly poking one of his cheeks. Kageyama flushes an even darker red, and his eyebrows crease, but somehow they don’t look as angry as before. Hinata smiles brilliantly, happy that the atmosphere’s been dispersed, and he settles down more comfortably on his pillows.

“So what brings you here?” he asks, his voice playful. “Can’t just be little old me, can it?”

Kageyama flushes, and looks away, but the splash of red across his ears only makes Hinata more gleeful. He determinedly fixes his gaze on the floor. “Dumbass,” he growls. “That’s not what I came here for, of course.”

Hinata’s smile grows bigger, and he stretches his arms above his head dramatically. “Aren’t you going to ask me how I’m feeling?” he teases, his mouth curving into a mischievous pout. “Or how I got this magnificent bruise on my head? Tell me, is it really as bad as it feels? Because I feel like my head’s going to split open.”

Kageyama peeks surreptitiously at him through the drooping fringe of his hair. “There isn’t any bruise,” he grumbles. “How – How – How are you feeling?”

Hinata feels an almost maniacal glee grow in his chest, and for once, he can just relax, and forget that he’s just a lowly slave, and that Kageyama’s a prince. For once, he lets his eyes close and his shoulders slump, and he sighs exaggeratedly.

“It was all ‘Bwaaah!!” and ‘Gwaaahh!’, you know!” he choruses excitedly, his hands waving wildly about in the air. “I mean, not when we were getting attacked, you know, but before that it was cool. It was cool. Everyone loved seeing Oikawa-san, and they were clamouring at the sedan, then suddenly someone tried to throw a knife at him.” Hinata’s brow creases, and he looks involuntarily at Kageyama. “Then I don’t really know what happened. Iwaizumi-san was injured, but Sugawara-san told me that he was doing fine. I just hit my head, I guess, and now I just woke up and it hurts.”

Now he can’t resist peeking up plaintively through his lashes at Kageyama to see his reaction. Somehow, when he’s around the other man, words just spill out involuntarily from his mouth, words he would never even have considered uttering in the presence of someone else. There’s something so quiet, so contained, so furious and passionate and tightly-leashed about Kageyama, that it makes Hinata want to test him, to push him to his limits and see him flare up like a flame.

Kageyama flushes as he meets Hinata’s gaze, and his eyebrows snap together in a thunderous frown. Hinata pouts, partly because he realises that Kageyama’s frowning because he’s feeling bashful, and partly because, really, he looks so much more handsome when he smiles. Kageyama mumbles something he doesn’t hear.

“What was that?” Hinata chirps suspiciously. His eyes catch on the dark sleek expanse of Kageyama’s hair, and he is suddenly brought back to that night when they were standing together in the orchard, one hand in Kageyama’s hair, the other clutching a handful of forbidden dates. He remembers the light of the moon shining gently on the arc of his cheekbones, the curve of his smile, the swift, strong lines of his body. He remembers how Kageyama, despite exuding an air of almost forceful masculinity, had seemed so _ethereal_ and otherworldly, like something out of the paintings he saw merchants selling at their caravans on dusty desert nights.

Then Hinata doesn’t know why he’s blushing, and he ducks his head to hide the burgeoning reddening of his cheeks.

Kageyama, oblivious as ever, whips his head up so suddenly that there’s a slight ‘pop’ sound, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He glares at Hinata, who rapidly cowers under the forcefulness of his gaze.

“I said, _how can you be so strong_?” he cries, almost defiantly, his eyes flashing and burning with a queer fire that Hinata cannot fathom. He is breathing heavily all of a sudden, and Hinata notices that his hands are clutching on so tightly to the soft cloth of his pantaloons that his knuckles have gone white. Strange, Hinata thinks, that the birds have suddenly gone silent, and that the wind has suddenly stopped.

They say nothing for a few moments, Hinata timidly blinking in bewilderment at the other man, before Kageyama shuts his eyes tight and takes in deliberate, slow breaths. When he has calmed himself, he looks straight into Hinata’s eyes, his own a brilliant, piercing dark blue, and Hinata shudders, because those eyes can see into his soul.

“How are you so strong?” he repeats, this time every word deliberately emphasised. “Not to mention the fact that _you almost died_ at the hands of the mob, Oikawa used your body _beyond your consent_ , he shared you with his cousin as if you were a _toy_ to be played with, and he _broke your mind_. How can you still speak of him without fear?”

Hinata blinks. Then he blinks again, and his mouth pinches. He had never before considered the question, never even recalled – but then again, for him, sex with Oikawa has become a norm, a daily occurrence, and being fucked into a bed with his cock limp isn’t anything new. Rather, he’s found a way of gritting his teeth and counting numbers in his head until Oikawa comes. But that’s not the point – the point is, he’s recovered from the trauma, recovered from the pain, and _he is strong_.

“I suppose,” he says at last, and now he returns Kageyama’s gaze with as much intensity and strength as before, “it’s because Oikawa-san isn’t that bad a person.”

Kageyama looks at him in utter disbelief, then his mouth twists. “Yes,” he says bitterly, “ _I suppose he is_.” And Hinata senses that he’s not being sarcastic, and that the bitterness in his voice comes from the fact that he knows what he’s saying is the bare, naked truth.

They sit in silence for a few more moments, and Hinata fidgets with the edge of the blanket. When Kageyama speaks again, his voice is rough, and he’s doing that black-frown thing again which means he’s probably nervous as hell.

“So… you’re doing better?” his voice cracks on the last word, and he has to clear his throat before he repeats the question.

Hinata nods frantically, his head bobbing up and down like a boat in the sea. “I’m doing better,” he says, his voice higher-pitched than usual. He dashes his tongue nervously over his dry lips and blinks. “I heard a few things when Asahi-san – when I had a visitor. Is it true that your nurse Daichi-san is leaving the palace?”

Kageyama’s brows arch in surprise, then he sighs, and rubs the palm of his hand against his forehead, leaving a conspicuous red mark. Hinata suppresses another snicker.

“Yes, he’s leaving,” Kageyama says, his voice subdued. “There was trouble of some sort with his family back in his hometown, and he’s got to go back and help out.”

“Trouble with the revolutionaries?” The words slip out involuntarily, and not for the first time, Hinata curses his impulsiveness, the lack of a filter by his mouth that sends controversial words shooting out without previous consideration of the consequences. But there, it’s done, and he can’t do anything about it, so he fixes Kageyama with a determined glare, and pouts.

Kageyama’s lips pinch together, but he replies readily enough. “I think so.” He coughs, and looks carefully at Hinata over the hand over his mouth. “How did you hear of this?”

“Asahi-san – one of the cooks – came to visit me, and he mentioned something about Daichi-san to Sugawara-san, and then I said Daichi-san’s name by accident and they had to tell me all about it. So his family’s part of the –” Here he stops himself, afraid he’s said too much, but Kageyama nods, apparently in the loop.

“His family’s joined the revolution, that much is true,” he murmurs.

Hinata yawns expansively, and points at the cup of water placed on the table beside him. “Pass me that, Kageyama-san, _please_ ,” he says in a sing-song voice, his lips curving into a teasing smile. Somehow, when Kageyama gets that serious look on his face, Hinata doesn’t like it, and so he tries his best to ease that frown.

Kageyama’s brows snap together, but this time it’s a bashful-frown rather than an angry-frown. He grumbles a little, but takes the cup and shoves it at Hinata, spilling a little on the bedsheets.

“There you go, dumbass,” he mumbles, “although why you can’t get it yourself is beyond me.”

“Is dumbass the only insult you know?” Hinata mutters, purposely loud enough for Kageyama to hear. The provocation works – Kageyama’s face reddens, and he grits his teeth together.  Hinata can practically see the whites of his eyes.

“O-Of course it’s not!” he hisses. “It’s just – it’s just – you’re a dumbass, aren’t you?”

Hinata pouts. “That’s not very nice, Kageyama- _san_. It’s not befitting of a prince at all, is it?” he says, and he sips at the water, thankful that the cup is hiding his gleeful, devious smile. Kageyama sputters a little, and simply glares at him, lost for words. Hinata places the cup down again, and looks out of the window wistfully.

“I want to learn sword-fighting,” he mutters under his breath, and sneaks a peek over at Kageyama. “You promised to teach me, didn’t you?”

“Well, I can’t exactly do that when you’re laid up in bed, can I?” Kageyama points out, and it’s a perfectly reasonable statement, which is precisely why Hinata ignores him completely. He champs his teeth reflectively, running his tongue over the faint taste of the grapes which Iwaizumi had brought him the previous day.

“Do you have anything to eat?” he asks suddenly, whipping his head around to face Kageyama, and his stomach chooses the exact same moment to make a very loud, very concerted protest. The unabashed noise stuns both of them for a moment - before they break out into rapid, uncontrolled, synchronised laughter. Hinata thinks, dazedly, as he doubles over clutching at his sides, the music of Kageyama’s voice filling the air around him, that maybe – just maybe – the prince isn’t all that bad.

He also looks very nice when he laughs, Hinata notes helpfully, wondering why suddenly he’s flushed all over his body, and the little hairs on his arms are standing on end. He attributes it to the cold, and reaches over to shut the window by the bed. A huge gust of wind blows in, knocking over the flower vase placed on the table and spilling stagnant water over Hinata’s robe.

Hinata utters a muffled curse, picking up the flowers mechanically and placing them back into the vase. He looks down at his sodden robe regretfully.

“It’s cold,” he complains, petulantly, childishly, and suddenly he realises that Kageyama’s not quite breathing, and his face is red, and that there’s steam literally coming out of his ears. Hinata blinks for a few moments, wondering what’s got him all riled up. Then there’s a queer roiling sensation in the pit of his stomach and he instinctively looks downward again, just as his fingers go to the hem of the robe, ready to pull it off in preparation for putting on a new, drier set of clothes.

This time, his heart skips a beat, and it is his face that goes beet red when he realises that the pale pink nubs of his nipples are showing through the thin, translucent gauze of the robe. The water has completely soaked the fabric through, and the paleness of his skin is apparent – as is the multitude of bruises dotted against his abdomen, bruises that are spaced apart suspiciously in the shape of fingers. His fingers have already automatically half-lifted the hem of the robe up, exposing the taut lines of his hips and the jut of his bones, and he drops the fabric as if he had been scalded.

Cautiously, he peeks up at Kageyama, and instantly wishes that he hadn’t. The look on the latter’s face is one he has not seen before – hungry, violent, almost… _bestial_. His eyes dart leisurely over the expanse of Hinata’s skin, and suddenly, Hinata feels very, _very_ naked – and somehow he doesn’t cower from the burn of Kageyama’s gaze. He blinks again, and swallows, and doesn’t miss how Kageyama’s eyes linger on the curve of his throat.

They sit there, frozen in time for a few precious minutes. Hinata cannot move – he feels as if he has been rooted to the ground, his muscles devoid of strength, his heart beating at a mile a minute. Kageyama’s eyes trail over his body, and stop at the curve of his abdomen where the bruises from Oikawa’s fingers are showing.

Then there is a loud bang from outside the room, and Kageyama chokes on his saliva, and springs to his feet as though shot with an arrow.

“I’ll, er, leave you to the thing. The recovering. The getting better soon, uh, I, I’m leaving, yeah.” Kageyama stumbles over his words, his face red and his voice stammering, and beads of sweat already beginning to drip down the sides of his face. His trembling fingers lift to push the strands of hair away from his face, and his cloak tangles momentarily in the knobs of the chair as he fumbles to get out of his seat. His thin, sleek eyebrows clamp down over his eyes in a fearsome scowl, and then he practically runs out of the room. Hinata is left behind, lying on the bed and very, very confused.

He looks down at the pale sheen of his skin, the soaked cloth of the shirt sticking to the slim arch of his collarbones, and he remembers the look in Kageyama’s eyes – remembers the passion, remembers the fire, remembers the violent, desperate _hunger_ – and suddenly, he is afraid, and he is terribly, _terribly_ aroused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](http://kitcatkandy.tumblr.com/)  
>  comments and kudos are love <3 (i probably don't deserve them for being a bloody procrastinator but)


	9. Kageyama - One Month's Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i felt guilty for writing another fic when i've already got too much to handle so here you go~  
> a little bit of plot but i promise we will get more iwaoi next chapter

This time Kageyama can hardly focus on the task at hand, and it's all Hinata's fault.

They're leaving the palace together for the first time, Kageyama and Iwaizumi and Oikawa. It hadn't taken more than a few words to Kunimi from the captain before the dark-haired guard had stood down obediently, albeit with a rebellious, angry gleam in those usually-blank eyes which revealed his fury at being left out of the loop. 

Much as Kageyama is loath to admit it, leaving the guard behind doesn't sit well with him. Especially since they've been together - unwittingly - reluctantly - since both of them had come of age, and they've really been through a lot – attempted assassinations, extravagant parties, first trysts and the like. But it’s not like they really have a choice; Iwaizumi hasn't spoken to the Royal Guard yet, isn't ready to rally their support, not when things are still so unstable and the peasant army hasn't yet been fully assembled. And, admittedly, trust isn't something any of them are willing to play with, not when it comes to the high-stakes game they're playing.

It's a high-stakes game to them, at least, and their lives are on the line.

But, back to the subject at hand. Even while Kageyama had been meeting Oikawa and Iwaizumi at the door, even while they had been ushered through the palace gates, even while they had been walking silently through the royal garden and out into the subdued clamour of the main street, Kageyama's thoughts had been filled with nothing but the miserable little orange-haired slave. Not miserable in  _that_  sense, Kageyama thinks sulkily; he had been perfectly and exasperatingly upbeat, even though the large, slightly-reddened bandage on his forehead  _had_  to hurt like a bitch. He had gone on and on about the parade, his expressive face fluid and alight with pleasure, his hands - with their long fucking fingers and those short, clean-cut nails, driving Kageyama  _absolutely fucking crazy_  - gesturing madly in the air, and Kageyama had suddenly felt his heart twist and turn upside down.

He had, all of a sudden, remembered the night in the orchard, when he had seen Hinata's swollen eyes, the dull resentful clench of his fists as he stared blankly at the ground, remembered the way he'd looked up at Kageyama and had startled him with the still strong, burning flame in his wide orange eyes. Of course he knew Hinata was strong; anyone who had gone through his brother and could still laugh as if he had not a care in the world  _had_  to be strong. But it wasn't until he saw Hinata laughing and smiling at the thought of the parade which had almost killed him, at the thought of the man who had forcefully seized his control and his virginity, that Kageyama realised _how_ strong.

It isn't in the physical sense, no - Hinata's body, though obviously no pushover, has nothing like Oikawa's sinuous, latent power, or the thick corded muscles of Iwaizumi, or even the thin sleek lines of tension of Kageyama’s own body. His body is tiny, fragile, and though possessed of its own, explosive energy, is nothing to hold a candle to. And yet Kageyama finds him terribly, painfully strong, stronger than anyone he has ever encountered before. Perhaps it is because the people in the palace - himself included - had always seemed, by comparison, insufferably weak, bowing down to their superiors without protest or opposition.

In contrast, Hinata, already beaten and broken and bruised, somehow always manages to stand up again and keep fighting on. Kageyama hadn't been able to tell if the wicked knife twisting its way into his heart had been from admiration, jealousy, or another kind of emotion altogether. Because surely that is all it is, isn’t it? Simple admiration of the slave for his tenacity and remarkable resilience, and a creeping, insidious envy that Kageyama himself hasn't, so far, been able to muster up such courage.

No, there's nothing else he's feeling for the feisty little slave, because he wouldn't be able to accept it, because he wouldn't be able to fathom feeling anything like affection for the tiny, excitable slave who always seems to make his blood boil.

A reflexive shudder overtakes his body as he remembers the pale pink nubs of Hinata's nipples peaking almost…  _shyly_  against the wet fabric of his robe, remembers the slender, thin lines of his hips, remembers how pale the skin of his abdomen had been. How  _well_  he remembers having, for one dangerous, daunting,  _thrilling_  second, imagined running his lips along the delicate line of Hinata's jaw, imagined what it would feel like if he just reached out and gripped a hold of that orange hair - if it would be as soft as it seemed - imagined what it would feel like to crush his lips to the other’s and bite down hard, mark what was his and rightfully, _only his_ –

A loud bang from the corridor outside had startled him rudely from the hazy dream into which he had been sinking, and he had sprung to his feet, horrified at the direction his thoughts had been taking. Surely not - but really -  _definitely not_. One last glance at the pale white arch of Hinata's neck peeking elegantly out of the collar of his robe had been all it took to send Kageyama marching straight out of the infirmary, straight out of his own personal hell, without even stopping to give Sugawara a goodbye.

Because he had frightened himself. He had felt that strange, powerful rush of emotion bubbling up in his chest as he had looked at Hinata, emotions he could barely control, and his own raw lust and desire had sent him into automatic recoil.  _Of course_  he had felt such base emotions before - he was a man, after all, and a prince. He had no lack of eager maidens after his hand, some not-so-subtle, some not-so-innocent, and he had even indulged the temporary stirring of insanity that had plagued him in his teenage years. But the respite he had found beneath the maiden's receptive thighs had not been something memorable or deserving of remembrance - it had simply been just that. An act to satiate his temporary desires, something he indulged in but found no tangible pleasure in. It wasted time he could have been spending practising his sword-fighting skills, or sparring with Kunimi, or even  _sleeping_.

So that was true desire. Kageyama's body trembles again, involuntarily, and he remembers the surge of animalistic, possessive,  _uncontrollable_  passion which had threatened to consume him at the sight of Hinata in all his wet, partially-unclothed glory.

Another memory of that moment comes to mind, unsought-for, unwanted, and Kageyama's jaw tightens as he sees again those dark, painful bruises scattered erratically, vulgarly across the unblemished skin that stretched tight over Hinata's stomach. They looked suspiciously like finger-marks -  _of course_  they were finger-marks, what else could they be - and Kageyama had no doubt in his mind as to who had left them there.

Now, he darts a furious look at Oikawa's slim back, the object of his anger, leisurely and obliviously walking in front of him, and wonders just why, exactly, seeing the marks on Hinata's skin had incensed him so. It's not like he's unfamiliar with Oikawa's ignorant cruelty and his callous disregard for the emotions of others - it's a known fact that the crown prince is a selfish bastard, and an arrogant one at that. It irks him more than ever, now, to wonder why he'd been so surprised, and curiously enraged, at the sight of those bruises.

(He fervently denies that it had had anything to do with the thoughts that had flashed through his head, mine, mine,  _mine_  - )

Kageyama forces his attention back to the matter at hand. Iwaizumi and Oikawa are bickering again, in hushed tones so as not to draw attention to themselves, and they're fast leaving Kageyama behind.

It's different, today; the fog is less dense, hardly there at all, and the sun is bright. Kageyama draws his cloak closer around him, and sticks close to Iwaizumi's side. Beside them, on the streets and hidden in the dark shadows of the alleyways, suspicious eyes peer out at them, some of them weary, some of them disinterested, some of them downright hostile. He's not really surprised, though. If their height weren't already enough of a giveaway, the way Oikawa unconsciously carries himself - tall, erect, _kingly_ even - is sufficient to make them stand out among the rest of the dirty, unwashed rabble that hunch over at their sides.

He fidgets slightly, wishing fervently that they'd reach their destination quicker, wishing desperately that the shop-house they're headed for is just around the corner, although judging from his previous, clandestine visit there, it's not likely that his wish will come true any time soon. The restless tension in the atmosphere is making him tense as well, and it’s not helping that Iwaizumi’s posture indicates clearly that his hand is on the hidden sheath sewn into the inside of his cloak.

Suddenly, he almost crashes smack into Oikawa's back as they stop abruptly. As he opens his mouth to growl out a confused complaint, Oikawa lopes casually over to a nearby fruit stall, picking up a banana and beginning to peel it. The stallholder's indignant cry of protest is halted by Iwaizumi's resigned sigh, and the silver coin he flicks into the old, worn wood that serves as a table.

Walking on, heedless of his actions, Oikawa glances casually over the other wares in the street, although he doesn't stop again. The late afternoon sunlight filtering through the holes in the tarpaulin of the stalls dapples his skin and accentuates the round, tender lines of his face.

Somehow, Kageyama thinks, the sunlight has the additional effect of making Iwaizumi look softer, too, and the dust he's kicking up with his boots looks a little less angry than before.

They walk along the streets of the market, Oikawa pointedly ignoring Kageyama's presence behind him and focusing on - presumably - annoying Iwaizumi with his unreasonable requests of a trinket here, a tapestry there. Iwaizumi replies with no lack of irritation, and Kageyama wonders why Oikawa never learns - but then he catches sight of the little smile that curves Oikawa's lips every time Iwaizumi darts a pointed rejoinder his way, and suddenly he thinks that maybe it's not so bad after all.

After a few uneventful twists and turns - their journey marred only by a ruffian who had leered out at Oikawa, and had been swiftly run off by Iwaizumi's scimitar, they reach the old, familiar-looking shop-house. Kageyama draws the cloak tighter around his shoulders, following Iwaizumi and Oikawa's lead as they peer cautiously around. He catches the tail-end of Oikawa's sentence as he aims a disgruntled whisper at Iwaizumi - "… obviously didn't look hard enough, otherwise why would  _he_  be here with us now..."

Iwaizumi replies with a hushed, sharp shake of the head, and looks back to make sure Kageyama's following close behind. He is, of course - there's no way he's getting left behind in the middle of nowhere, with no idea how to get back on his own.

Iwaizumi stalks up to the guard lounging casually by the doorway to the shop-house, and barks a quick order at him. The man, who has obviously been catching forty winks, jerks to his feet, his makeshift armour almost falling off his shoulders as he attempts to stand at attention, and fails - his old, dented scimitar falls to the ground with a loud, resounding crash that makes all four of them wince. Iwaizumi hisses the password at him - what it is Kageyama cannot hear - and beckons for them to follow him. He follows up the rear, ending off their entrance with a stern warning to the guard.

Oikawa leads the way, walking up the stairs with clear experience in where he's going. He stops at the second door they reach, and suddenly he's looking at Kageyama, looking straight in his eyes and keeping his gaze for the first time in a very long while.

"Are you ready, Tobio-chan?" he murmurs, and his voice is uncharacteristically quiet. He looks back at where Iwaizumi is still stiffly lecturing the guard, then turns his attention back to Kageyama. "I know we've already said this, but this is no game. There's a very real chance of failure if we lose, or are betrayed, and that means that there's a very real chance of death. You can still back out now, you know, I won't blame you - and I don't want you here anyway - I'll just tell Iwa-chan that you changed your mind, and you won't have to say a thing. Now think carefully, Tobio-chan, about what you want."

Kageyama takes a deep breath. Oikawa's tone of voice is serious, steady for once, and he doesn't make the mistake of underestimating the other's words. The consequences of his actions momentarily flash across his mind - exile, torture,  _death_ , as the penalty for failure to carry the revolution through. But then he remembers Oikawa's speech, and he remembers the unquenchable fire in Hinata's eyes, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he's willing to risk everything to bring happiness back into Hinata's life again, back into the lives of all the unhappy people under his father's rule.

And if that means that he has to put his life on the line, well, so be it. His life is forfeit anyway, he thinks bitterly; without freedom, without love, without friendship. If he were to die, he might as well die a glorious death, and attempt reconciliation with his brother while they are at it.

He looks back into Oikawa's bright eyes, and nods. Oikawa's mouth twists sardonically, then he sighs, and turns to face the door. "Typical," he mumbles under his breath, loud enough for Kageyama to hear, but somehow Kageyama doesn't quite hear in it the usual bite that accompanies Oikawa's words.

Iwaizumi walks up to them, his face a black mask of anger. "With security like that," he mutters, "it's no wonder you heard our talk with Ukai. I'm surprised they haven't all been massacred yet - the palace spies are surprisingly lacking in ability these days."

Oikawa sighs in assent, and knocks on the door. There's a muffled scraping sound of chairs moving against the floor, then a gruff voice calls, "Come in, the door's unlocked as usual."

"But it's always polite to knock first!" Oikawa chirps as he opens the door and jauntily walks in, the usual lilt to his voice restored. He directs his blinding smile towards the man sitting on the chair behind the desk, the man Kageyama recognises as Ukai, who is presumably the head of this whole affair, or at least someone relatively high up.

He can't tell, and it doesn't help that Ukai's appearance is rather...  _unexpected_. Dark blonde hair held back untidily from his forehead by a cloth band, a touch of foreign-ness around his eyes and jaw, and the relative well-kept-ness of his clothes differentiate him from the rest of the men standing around the room. Kageyama can tell at an instant that these men are warriors, with their thick, sinewy builds and the corded, rippling muscles of their forearms. Of course, all of them wield makeshift weapons, hammers, pitchforks and slingshots replacing proper blades, but Kageyama doesn't balk. They're formidable fighters, he admits, and perhaps they even stand a chance against the forces of the King with these men around, not to mention the skills of Iwaizumi, Oikawa and himself.

Yes, of course he knows he’s good - who doesn’t?)

Ukai springs to his feet the moment he spots Kageyama, and his pupils dilate almost immediately in fear. "Who is this?!" he cries, pointing an accusing finger towards Oikawa. "Who have you brought here? Is he a palace guard, come here to take us away?"

Oikawa shakes his head with a little amused smile. "He's my younger brother, Ukai-san," he purrs, his voice low and subtle, "He overheard our conversation, ah, the last time, and he's willing to join our ranks."

"He overheard our conversation?" Ukai's brows crease, and he blinks for a few seconds, before the comprehension dawns over his face and he bellows, " _Yamamoto_!!!"

After a suitable chewing-out of the recalcitrant guard, and a quick overview of the entire situation, Ukai seems a lot more open to discussion, although the suspicious gleam is still there in his eyes. Kageyama can't really blame him, though, since he probably would have had the exact same reaction.

Ukai runs his fingers over his chin and stares calculatingly at Kageyama, his eyes running over his body and assessing his build. Suddenly, he stands, and whips out a mean-looking broadsword as big and thick as his leg. "You may promise a lot of things,” he sneers, "but  _can you fight_ , that's the question?"

Without any warning, he lunges for Kageyama, his sword aimed straight at the prince's heart. It's only his reflexes that keep him from being impaled like a pig on a spit, and he frantically dances away from the wicked point of the sword. He barely has time to draw out his own, casting off the cloak that hinders him so, before the broadsword is clanging against his sword and pushing him backwards. He stumbles a little, unused to fending off such a huge weapon, but then he regains his balance and twists his sword to direct the other blade to the side. Then he lunges, taking advantage of the momentary lull in the other's fierce attack, and aims for his leg.

Ukai sidesteps this blow easily, and glowers. "You aim to  _kill_ , not to incapacitate, prince!" he snarls, his eyes alight with a bright, maniacal fire. Again, he darts forward with astonishing speed, considering the weight of his weapon, aiming again for Kageyama's heart. Kageyama easily sidesteps this again, shimmying towards Ukai's unprotected side in an effort to take advantage of his weakness. His face bears a black scowl at the telling-off he has just received - of course he fought to kill, he didn't need some  _stranger_  to tell him that, but he didn't want to  _kill_  the revolutionary leader at their first meeting, did he? But since the other wants to die so badly, he decides that he'd better oblige him.

With a ferocious growl, he slips his sword under Ukai's guard and aims his blade at his throat. There is a loud clash as their blades meet again, and sparks fly, then the broadsword is plastered flush against Ukai's body with the tip of Kageyama's sword almost at his neck. They stand in that position for a few more moments, both breathing heavily. Kageyama feels sweat trickle down his temple, and although, by right, he should be stepping back to make another attack on the man's flank, he looks into Ukai's eyes, and sees something unfathomable there that makes him stop in his tracks.

He waits, his arm tense, and then Ukai slowly lowers his weapon. Kageyama takes that as his cue to do the same, sheathing his blade. "You fight well," Ukai admits grudgingly, with a side glance at Oikawa and Iwaizumi. He lumbers back to his seat, and plonks himself down with a heavy sigh. Suddenly, he looks very old, and very tired.

"How are things on your side?" he asks Oikawa and Iwaizumi, turning his attention away from Kageyama, and Kageyama exhales deeply, taking that as a sign of acceptance of his presence here. It's underrated, and a strange anticlimactic first meeting, but somehow Kageyama wouldn't have it any other way.

"I've spoken to some of the lords in the army. We're trying to get the larger factions on our side, and hopefully the smaller ones will recognise that it's their best bet on our side," Oikawa says, seating himself opposite Ukai at the desk. Iwaizumi stands behind his chair, casting an intimidating figure, and Kageyama goes to join him. "I've talked to Ushiwaka, and he says he's on our side, as long as the next king gives him back his lands." Oikawa gives a dramatic sigh, and waves his hands airily. "He wants his gardens back, apparently, which our present and dearest king took from him to pay taxes to the neighbouring kingdom. And Moniwa more or less hates my father because he took away a third of Datekou's women for his harem."

Ukai nods, but his voice is tense and curt when he speaks again. "What about Daishou? Nohebi holds the largest faction in the army, don't they?"

Oikawa shrugs. "His faction's numbers outweigh both Shiratorizawa's and Datekou's combined, that is true, but he should pose no problem to my persuasive powers." He grins, then, and it is an appealing, boyish grin. "Besides, Makki's working on his father, and I'm sure Seijou will soon be on our side. The Duke hates my father, after all. Something about pride or some such like that."

Ukai scoffs. "Nobles and their scruples," he sneers derisively, then gestures towards one of the men in the corner. The latter steps forward, holding a large map in his hands. The long dark tufts of his hair fall attractively over his right eye, and the rest of his hair stands up like a cockerel's crest. Oikawa grins affably at the newcomer.

"Kuroo-chan," he says, leaning back in his chair to make space for the map, "Long time no see, huh?" The other man, Kuroo, smirks back at him, his eyes small and slitted, his grin a crooked one revealing sharp canines filed to a point. He unrolls the map on the table and points at a few red circles drawn around some areas of the map. Kageyama, peering over Oikawa's shoulder, recognises those as the areas Oikawa had mentioned earlier - the fiefdoms of Seijou, Datekou and Shiratorizawa. Altogether, they entrap the capital city and ensure that there is a pretty close circle around it. The only other strategically-important location that is left is the Nohebi region, away to the South and controlling the port.

Kageyama wracks his brain to try and remember  _something_  from the political education lessons he's given on a weekly basis, and remembers that, in effect, Nohebi controls the resources and trade that come through. He's heard rumours about Daishou Suguru, the Lord of Nohebi, and they're not usually good ones. He's been described as a sly snake willing to do whatever it takes to win favour and come out victorious, and Kageyama wonders just how Oikawa plans to turn Daishou over to his side. From what he's heard Daishou and his father have a pretty good relationship as far as it goes, the two of them being cut from the same cloth.

The rest of their time there passes uneventfully, with Oikawa and Ukai discussing strategic plans and finalising orders. Iwaizumi chips in occasionally with a well-placed comment on the military area of the discussion, but otherwise stays silent.

At the end of the meeting, Oikawa straightens up, and stretches languidly. He yawns, a large, cat-like yawn, and takes Iwaizumi's hand to hoist himself up. "Iwa-chan will talk to the Royal Guard and get them on our side," he says sweetly, tossing the goodbye over his shoulder. "We'll see you again in a week, Ukai-san. We won't bring the brat again." This last is directed at Kageyama, who bristles at the implication, but before he can protest Iwaizumi grabs hold of both him and Oikawa and drags them out of the room.

Once they're standing outside the shop-house again, the terrified guard now standing straight and alert, Kageyama shakes off Iwaizumi's hand irritably and rounds on him. No matter how much he respects the older guard, the insult Oikawa had dealt to him still rankles, and he feels an angry itch start to grow in the bar of his stomach.

"Iwaizumi-san," he demands hotly, his eyebrows scrunched over his eyes in a black scowl, "I'm not a brat, and I deserve to come along with you on the next meeting!"

Oikawa sighs, and opens his mouth as if to respond, but right on cue, Iwaizumi directs his fiercest glare towards the prince, and he promptly shuts his mouth sulkily. That matter resolved, Iwaizumi turns back to Kageyama, his eyes a little softer than before.

"Oikawa didn't mean anything by that, Kageyama," he explains, distractedly running his hand through his hair. "It's just… These people could be dangerous, Kageyama, I'm sure you've realised that, and you shouldn't associate with them as far as possible. We don't even trust them all that much yet, and I don't think they trust us that much either. No," he says quickly as Kageyama tries to cut in, to protest, "Listen to me. Did you see Kuroo? The man with the map?"

Kageyama nods, not altogether sure where this is going. Iwaizumi sighs, and looks around him before he continues. "He's the one who tried to kill Oikawa during the parade. He's a mercenary, Kageyama, half the people there are, and they're dangerous people. Although most of them aren't really fighting for money anymore but for love of country, it's still extremely dangerous. Besides," he says, with a small, tired smile, "Two people sneaking out every week is already enough of a security risk, let alone three, and both of them princes to boot. I could make excuses for one prince, but two is a little harder, especially since you had to ditch your own guard to come out with us. Just stay in the palace and practise your sword-fighting, alright? You'll be a great asset in the coming revolution, but only as a fighter. There's no more need for you to come along to the meetings with us."

"It's dangerous, you said so yourself," Kageyama protests sullenly, defiantly. "What if all of them attacked you? You wouldn't stand a chance." Iwaizumi lets out a bark of humourless laughter. "Your presence there wouldn't really make much of a difference anyway, would it?" he points out. "I'm confident enough in my abilities to defend the prince, and at least this way if we die out here... Well, it means we've left a witness behind to avenge us." His hand ruffles tenderly through Kageyama's hair. The familiar action makes Kageyama sigh, and relent sulkily.

Oikawa bursts in, sounding sulky as usual as when he's been ignored. "If the two of you are quite done," he sniffs snootily, "we should return to the palace. Our absence can't be excused for that long."

Iwaizumi grins, a rare sight, and falls into step beside the crown prince. Kageyama hurries to catch up to them, and suddenly a question flashes into his mind. "Iwaizumi-san," he ventures, his brows furrowed. "Why don't you go out for these meetings... at night? Isn't this kind of covert business better conducted under the cover of darkness?"

Iwaizumi rubs his hand against the back of his neck absently. "Well, that's what everyone thinks, and that's what the King thinks as well," he explains, hand automatically going out to grip Oikawa's arm and prevent him from stealing an apple from the nearby stall. "There's a heavier guard posted at night, and his spies are put on the alert, so we decided that we'd be better off venturing out during the daytime. Besides," he looks scathingly at Oikawa, although Kageyama isn't  _quite_  dumb enough to miss the flash of reluctant fondness that accompanies the glare, "we could always say that the prince was seeking…  _entertainment_  outside the palace, as an excuse."

Kageyama nods. That doesn't seem too far-fetched to him, judging from the rumours that abound in the palace about Oikawa's strange...  _preferences_. It's long been said that the crown prince is a little strange, especially when it comes to the bedroom. There have been whispers, whispers he's not been meant to hear but which have reached his ears nonetheless, of the handcuffs found in one of the prince's drawers by a chambermaid. Kageyama had thought of rebuking the woman for rifling through the belongings of another - of a  _prince_  no less - but a sudden upsurge of spitefulness had led him to let well enough alone.

The visit today has left him with plenty to think about and mull over, but still, as he treads along in Iwaizumi’s footsteps, the only thing in his mind is Hinata, and his wide beautiful eyes.

***

It is only the next day when they meet again, in the audience chamber in front of the King. Kageyama had received the summons from a terrified-looking slave trembling outside his door, and he had the feeling that her fear had simply been amplified by the look on his face. His expression could never be described as  _affable_ , even in normal times, and it is simply ghastly in the morning.

He isn't a morning person, not by far.

Kageyama stalks into the audience chamber five minutes after the summons, doing his best to look as affable as possible despite the fact that he's trying to tie the sash around his waist as quickly as possible. Kunimi trails quietly behind him, as impeccable and inscrutable as ever.

He stifles a yawn, and bows down perfunctorily in front of the sultan, seated on his dais with two scantily-clad slaves fanning him with palm leaves. Kageyama notices that Oikawa is already there, waiting with a look of boredom on his handsome face, and Iwaizumi standing at attention behind him.

The King stirs, and Kageyama is reminded, again, why he's often been nicknamed "The Sleeping Lion". His movements are languid, deliberate, almost feline in nature, and the dangerous aura he emits would probably have sent chills down Kageyama's spine, except for the fact that he has an enormous paunch to match. The twenty-seventh Sultan of Aoba Johsai used to be a strong, ruthless leader, so it is said, and age has done nothing to mellow him, simply taking away his strength and leaving within him that fatal core of cruelty.

The atrocities committed by him and his men are well-known in the kingdom itself, and stories circulate among the peasants. It is said that he once executed three officials for the unforgivable sin of opposing his acquisition of a new concubine of dubious antecedents, who had promptly attempted to assassinate him barely three weeks after her inauguration into the harem. Lustful, vicious and unlikeable, it seems that the only things keeping him in power are alliances he keeps with his equally-debauched peers.

Kageyama rarely associates with him, seeing as how he prefers to keep company with his courtiers and harem, and sees no reason to associate much with either of his two sons. It's not a welcome summon he's received, and he's not looking forward to it much, especially seeing as how Oikawa's apparently been called in as well.

He suddenly feels dread creep through his every vein. Perhaps - just perhaps - the King's spies have discovered their association with the revolution? He feels bile rise up into his throat; the King is well-known for the long, drawn-out, _excruciatingly-cruel_  tortures that he exacts on criminals in the kingdom, and Kageyama has no desire to be one of them, especially since the punishment would be especially harsh for the crime of treachery. He chances a glance at Oikawa, and notices how, despite the latter's bored exterior, his fingers are twisting tightly together and his feet are rigid.

Iwaizumi, behind him, has his hand on his scimitar, and although his fingers are deliberately loose on the scabbard, Kageyama can sense the tightly-leashed tension that pervades his body and threatens to break free at any sign of potential conflict.

"Tooru," comes the lazy, languid voice from the dais. "Tobio. How are my two sons?"

"We're doing very well, father," Oikawa replies, his voice stiff and formal, his head inclined in a slight bow. "And how about you?"

The King utters a low rumble that could pass as laughter, if one were listening closely enough. He shifts his weight from one side of the throne to the other, and there is a loud, ominous creak of the floorboards. Kageyama wonders how high the possibility is of the King just plummeting straight through the floor. "I am very well, thank you for asking, Tooru." He waves his hand dismissively at Iwaizumi and Kunimi. "You may leave, guards, this is a private discussion."

Kageyama sees Iwaizumi hesitate, his lips trembling with the weight of dissent; sees the way Oikawa turns back to look at him, his eyes filled with a queer sort of pleading desperation. Something unspoken, something  _powerful_  passes between them, and Iwaizumi reluctantly steps backwards. Kunimi follows his lead, and they leave the room. The sonorous bang of the door as they leave is like an ultimatum. The two of them turn slowly back to face the King, who is sitting - somewhat - upright. He fingers the edge of his glass, and his voice is airy and friendly as he continues.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I called you here today, aren't you?" he says, a deceptively-light edge to his tone. He lifts the glass of wine to his lips, takes a satisfied little sip, and clears his throat, settling the glass back down with a quiet finality. Kageyama suddenly feels like  _screaming_ , because  _if he wants to drag this whole goddamn rigmarole out then he might as well throttle himself and save the King's executioners a whole lot of trouble_ , but then the King looks up again, and his gaze is pleasant.

"Congratulations, Tobio. You're engaged to be married."

The words shock Kageyama for a moment, and he is rendered speechless. He senses, rather than sees, Oikawa's surprise as well, the utter confusion at the suddenness of such a proposal. The King takes their stunned silence as his cue to continue. "The neighbouring kingdom of Karasuno has very kindly offered their third princess to Aoba Johsai in the hopes that it will create an alliance between the great kingdoms and bring the houses of Oikawa and Hitoka to greater glory," he says, and Kageyama dazedly recalls the third princess of Karasuno, from a diplomatic visit in his youth - a slight, excitable little thing, easily terrified and quickly intimidated by his trademark glare, which had been honed to perfection even in his single-digit years. He shudders at the thought of marrying that tiny blonde little thing, but the moment he opens his mouth to protest, he sees the dangerous light in his father's eyes, and somehow the words don't come out the way he wished them to.

"Of course, your highness," he mutters, and the words sound choked and forced even to him. "Your wish is my command."

The King nods, appearing pleased, and cleans absent-mindedly at his nails with a toothpick. "Their military assistance will be of great importance when we finally carry out a retaliation campaign on the rebels," he murmurs, almost to himself, although the words are audible to all in the room. "We are of considerably greater strength than the measly forces my spies tell me the peasants have managed to cobble together, but still, I wish to crush them once and for all, and the help of Karasuno will be a great aid."

One hand clutches his glass and drains it till it is dry; with the other, he closes his fist tightly around an errant fly buzzing by his ear, and casually crushes it into dust. The buzzing stops, and the room is silent again. He continues on, as if nothing had happened, and Kageyama feels an involuntary shiver run through his body.

"When the marriage ceremony is held, they will bring along with the dowry their men in arms and weapons fit to crush the uprising; it will truly be a ceremony to remember." With a self-satisfied smirk, he leans back in his throne, and signals to the mute slave at his side to bring another glass of wine.

"Father." Oikawa's voice sounds beside Kageyama, and it is unusually sober. Kageyama turns blankly to face the other, and realises that his face is as hard as stone, although the politeness in his tone is not yet absent. "When will the wedding be held?" The King utters an ominous chuckle, his hands rubbing at the large rotundity of his belly.

"In a month's time," he croons tenderly, and Kageyama wants to vomit. "Do not fear that I have forgotten you; I have bigger plans for you, dear Tooru, than the princess of an insignificant neighbouring kingdom." Apparently satisfied with this, he leans back and dismisses them with a casual gesture at the door.

Oikawa looks like he wants to ask more, but then his mouth pinches tightly shut and he marches out of the room. Kageyama follows suit, not wanting to stay in the room alone with his father any longer than is needed, and he feels the beady, sharp stare of the latter pierce into his back as he leaves.

The moment they leave the room, Oikawa grabs Iwaizumi by the shoulders - he and Kunimi have been loyally waiting outside the audience chamber for them to finish - and pulls him close. Kageyama only hears one phrase - _one month's time_ \- before the two of them stalk away, heads still close together in hushed conference. He and Kunimi stare after the duo in mild disgruntlement at being left out, and Kageyama kicks at the floor viciously.

"I'm not a child," he mutters petulantly, at no one in particular, and Kunimi sighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](http://kitcatkandy.tumblr.com/) hmu if you love the gay  
>  comments and kudos are love!


	10. Iwaizumi - Oaths in Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAVE NO EXCUSES  
> I had a vet internship and exams and blah and things were super busy, but the thing is y'all get an extra long chapter so enjoy <3

It’s been a couple of days since the King’s revealed his plans for Kageyama’s marriage and Oikawa’s potential engagement – whatever _bigger plans_ had meant – and it’s driving Iwaizumi crazy. It doesn’t help that Oikawa’s as flippant as ever, dismissing the words as another of his father’s meaningless threats. Thankfully, he _has_ recognised the severity of Kageyama’s impending marriage to the princess of Karasuno, and has been working even harder since.

The alliance would imperil their plans even further, seeing as how help from the Karasuno army would add even more weight to the King’s forces. It’s especially important because they know that half of the lord-generals in the royal army are perfectly loyal to the King, and wouldn’t even consider allying themselves with an upstart prince with nothing to promise but a rebel (rabble) army and a vague, uncertain _perhaps._ There’s nothing tangible for them to gain, after all, and that’s really all they’re after.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa had long ago already decided only to approach those who they were absolutely _sure_ would ally themselves against the King, because of some personal grudge against the sovereign or some ulterior motive. Oikawa knows the palace gossip well, and he’s quite sure of some of the things he’s heard from Hanamaki and his other sources. But even so, every time they had approached one of the lord-generals, Iwaizumi had held his breath and kept his hand on his scimitar all the way through, afraid that, somehow, Oikawa would be wrong, and their betrayal would be communicated to the king, and it would be their entrails slung up around the walls of the castle as a warning, and the army would sweep through the cities massacring every one man in ten as a warning –

But so far, their luck’s held, and the lords they’ve approached have been true to type. Ushijima Wakatoshi, lord of the Shiratorizawa fief, had had a chip on his shoulder about some piece of land taken from him by the sultan to pay the latter’s debts to a neighbouring kingdom, some piece of land on which he’d apparently spent quite a bit on money cultivating gardens on. Moniwa Kaname had had to be coaxed out of his shell, but after Oikawa had dropped some subtle hints about their purpose there, he had eagerly taken up their offer. Apparently, a third of Datekou’s women had been taken to feed the inner palace, and Moniwa is notoriously protective of the people.

Terushima Yuuji had been a little harder to convince, but after Oikawa had out and out promised him half of the barren northern territories to add to the Johzenji lands, he’d agreed. Apparently, the northern women could be very beautiful.

Duke Hanamaki had finally conceded, sending his son to the palace as a covert messenger to convey his willingness to align himself with the coup. Seijou is a minor fiefdom, adjoining Shiratorizawa and Wakutani, but still, it’s one more lord-general who’ll be on their side.

Even though they’ve made so many allies, Iwaizumi knows enough not to be complacent. The central army of Aoba Johsai still resides in the capital, under the direct command of the King, and its generals were forced to swear a blood vow to him. That means that they won’t be betraying him any time soon, because breaking a blood vow is a direct road to hell. Some of these generals are people Iwaizumi has known; he tries not to think too deeply about what will happen to them when the two sides finally clash.

Besides, they can’t afford to rest on their laurels, because they still have one left - Nohebi, the land of the serpents, its lord being Daishou Suguru.

Iwaizumi has never trusted Daishou, from the rumours about him and the things that he’s heard in the servants’ quarters, but from what Oikawa’s said, he’s power-hungry and willing to do anything it takes to get to the top. Right now, his allegiance has been promised to the King, but he’s apparently switched sides in conflict before, always to his benefit. It wouldn’t serve anyone well to trust Daishou Suguru, but they have no choice. Nohebi controls the southern ports, through which supplies enter, and is adjacent to the central fief of Aoba Johsai. Also, it’s the closest fief to Aoba Johsai, and also the one most likely to offer backup to the royal army in any event of invasion. Thus, Oikawa has maintained that it’s absolutely necessary that they win over Daishou’s allegiance, in order to assure victory over the royal army.

It’s not going to be a bloodless conflict, that’s for sure, but Iwaizumi wants to make it as painless as possible.

Just thinking about all these political shenanigans is enough to give him a blistering headache. It’s not helping that Oikawa’s currently perched on the side of his bed, his head thrown back, and Hinata’s mouth between his thighs.

 _Why is he still surprised_ , Iwaizumi thinks furiously, because really, he should have expected this. Should have expected that, although it had been a fortnight since Oikawa had last called for a slave, had been a long, blessed, _beautiful_ fortnight since another body had warmed the prince’s bed, his libido wouldn’t hold out for long. Oikawa had the patience of a hungry cat and the sexual appetite of a jackrabbit – okay, maybe that was a _little_ unfair.

To the jackrabbit.

But in all seriousness, it had been naïve of Iwaizumi to assume that, just because Oikawa had been cured of his flippant ignorance towards the people of his kingdom, that meant that he had been cured of his fickleness in… _other_ areas as well.

 _I’m horny_ , Oikawa had whined, his big brown chocolate eyes turned pleadingly to Iwaizumi, and the captain of the guards had been unable to refuse. Had been unable to punch him in the face and tell him off for summoning a slave at _bloody one am in the morning_ , for calling Iwaizumi into his room at so late an hour simply to satisfy his raging hormones. Had been unable to slam the door shut on Oikawa’s melancholy pout even though the thought of Hinata in Oikawa’s chamber once more made his blood boil, made all the hairs on his skin stand on end, made him think of taking his scimitar and _just –_

It’s not Hinata’s fault, and the one he wants to draw his sword on is Oikawa.

But he had been unable to refuse – same old story, he realises bitterly, because when had he ever been able to say _no_ to the prince – and that had led to this situation. Oikawa, sitting on the edge of the bed, legs spread apart, the gauzy, filmy robe ghosting over his pale skin, and Hinata’s orange head bobbing vigorously between his thighs.

Oikawa’s head is thrown back, exposing the pearly white skin on his neck, and even though Iwaizumi _knows_ at the back of his mind that it’s all an illusion – because Oikawa’s no innocent angel, and his skin is fucking _tan_ , not white – he can’t help but trace the line of the prince’s Adam’s apple with his eyes, imagine running his tongue over the chiselled line of his jaw, imagine gripping hold of that soft brown hair and just diving in for a soul-searing kiss. The robe is translucent, barely covering anything at all, and he can see the erect tips of Oikawa’s nipples glistening against the gauze.

Oikawa’s legs are pressed against the cold marble floor, his toes pointed and the arch of his foot off the ground in a gentle arch. Iwaizumi can see the way his calf muscles clench and unclench as he shifts his weight from one foot to another, can see the tremble in his arms from holding up most of his entire mass on the bed. Hinata’s orange hair rustles softly as he moves, and Iwaizumi is so close that he can see the raised goosebumps on Oikawa’s thighs from the contact between Hinata’s hair and the sensitive inner skin of his legs.

The insistent throb at Iwaizumi’s groin is a persistent pressure, but he barely notices it. After all, he’s had plenty of time to get used to it, an unwanted, unsought-for erection which he’ll resolve later in the bathroom, because even when he’s talking to Oikawa and there’s plenty of time for it to go down, Oikawa with his post-coitus afterglow is a force not to be underestimated. He’s glad for the loose pantaloons he has to wear, now, since they hide the swell in his undergarments from sight.

Rather, the little panting moans which Oikawa is making are the things driving him to distraction; small breathy gasps he lets out when Hinata brushes his tongue against his slit, tiny hissed curses as Hinata scrapes his teeth over his foreskin, a whimper or two as Hinata’s hands rub hard against the base of his cock. Iwaizumi can’t see a single thing Hinata’s doing – for one, it’s too dark, and for another, he’s not sure he could prevent himself from throttling himself if he could – but he’s seen enough before to know pretty well what Oikawa likes. Because Oikawa is a flagrant exhibitionist, that’s what he is, and both of them know it.

Oikawa’s head slants down, and Iwaizumi knows he’s close to completion. Oikawa’s hand lifts from the bed, where he’s been clutching with a death grip onto the blankets, and grabs hold of Hinata’s hand as he begins to move his hips more vigorously, thrusting hard into the little slave’s mouth. Hinata is already used to this; he keeps his head still and his throat relaxed, but Iwaizumi sees the curling of his fingertips into the cold floor and knows that it must be extremely uncomfortable.

With a groan, Oikawa grabs Hinata’s head with both hands and holds him still as he comes, his naturally higher-pitched voice going up a few semitones as he moans out his pleasure. Then, just as his fingers grip tight into the roots of Hinata’s hair, he snaps his head up, and stares straight into Iwaizumi’s eyes.

His gaze is strong, burning, fierce, and it sends terrible shivers down Iwaizumi’s spine. The brown in his eyes is dark and molten, and it’s not the first time he’s seen Oikawa in such a state of arousal, but it’s the first time he’s seen him so intensely-stimulated. There’s a promise in his eyes, a sinful promise of sweat-soaked sheets and muffled curses and the creaking of bedsprings, and it’s enough to make Iwaizumi groan internally. He has to consciously restrain himself from palming his groin.

When Oikawa is done emptying his seed into Hinata’s mouth, he collapses, boneless, onto the bed, and Hinata gets up, wiping his mouth off. He stands on shaky feet, gathering his robes tighter around himself, but his eyes are as emotionless and strong as ever. He doesn’t even flinch when Oikawa strokes a long, thin stripe up the side of his left calf with the tips of his toes, and simply stands motionless, waiting for the next command.

Oikawa opens his mouth, and it seems as if he wants to speak, but then he closes his eyes and flings his arms over his face, covering the high flush on his cheekbones –

(oh, how Iwaizumi just wants to _ravish_ him, press his lips onto his flushed skin, run his fingers over the dewy layer of sweat on his abdomen, _hold him tightly and whisper quiet words of love into his soft hair –_ )

\- and sighs, a long, deep sigh, the sigh of a cat satiated after it has had its meal. The muscles of his stomach tense and tighten as he stretches out, his toes curling and brushing the floor with tantalising touches. He, too, remains motionless, and after a few minutes Iwaizumi realises from the steady rise and fall of his chest that he’s fallen dead asleep. He gives a gentle touch to the back of Hinata’s neck.

“Hinata,” he says, the words uttered softly and almost soundlessly, “I don’t think the prince will require anything from you from now on. You may return to your chamber now. Kindaichi is outside waiting to escort you back.”

Hinata blinks, his eyes large and owl-like, although there’s a hint of dark circles around his eyes, and the splash of faded blue across his forehead reminds Iwaizumi that he’s just overcome an injury. Less of an incapacitation than his own, of course, but an equally painful one. Iwaizumi notices a trace of semen still on the side of the little slave’s chin, and he wipes it off with soft, tender fingers.

“Take care of yourself,” he finds himself saying involuntarily, and the mere action shocks him. He’s never been so kind to one of Oikawa’s slaves before, not really through any fault of their own – he supposes his antagonism towards them has mainly been because of a mixture of his own pain and jealousy, and the knowledge that he’s completely different from Oikawa’s usual preferences. Women have come and gone, mostly honoured at the opportunity to grace the bed of the crown prince, and those who had dared to showcase otherwise had soon been dismissed from the harem, demoted to working in the kitchens or other more menial areas.

Therefore, it comes as a shock to Iwaizumi when he realises that – despite his jadedness and the constant stream of slaves he’s seen patronising Oikawa’s bedroom – he’s come to actually _like_ the little orange-haired slave. Although he is usually quiet in front of the prince, he _had_ shown an unexpectedly-adorable side of him occasionally when Iwaizumi had been the one to escort him back to his chambers, instantly turning talkative and feisty the moment they had left the stuffy, over-warm bed chambers of the prince.

Although in the beginning he had been sombre, almost morose at times, as time had passed he had seemed to become both resigned and used to the situation, treating it as routine whenever Iwaizumi came to call for his services. Iwaizumi can admit freely to being fully impressed by his emotional strength and the way he’s able to bounce back after every hit. Even the orgy with the Duke’s son hadn’t cowed his spirit; far from that, since he had only become more inquisitive and fiery, in his own undercut way, after the incident.

Iwaizumi wonders what he could be like if he hadn’t been pressed into the service of the palace, forced into living the life of a harem slave, if he hadn’t been kidnapped by a slaver and left to live a life of his own. Hinata has never let anything slip about his past, and Iwaizumi hasn’t asked – he, of all people, can appreciate it when people have a past they want to hide. He can only assume at the time that it was an unhappy one, one better forgotten and laid to rest.

So yes, he _does_ care deeply for the slave, in a tender, platonic way, and it’s only now that he realises that _that’s_ why it hurts so much when he sees him being fucked by Oikawa. Partly jealousy, and partly anger at the prince himself, for being so debased as to defile the purity of one so young and with so much potential.

But that’s exactly what Oikawa does, after all. He can’t see anything except for himself, and hurts everyone around him because of his selfishness. He _had_ changed somewhat after the attempted assassination and that bright, beautiful moment when he had finally seen Iwaizumi’s scars, but deep down, that change can only go so far, and Iwaizumi knows it.

Why he continually allows himself to get hurt, he never knows – after all, he knows Oikawa would never bar him from returning to his hometown, to his family, even if it meant leaving his side. He would throw a tantrum, of course, scream and cry and rant, but Iwaizumi knows that Oikawa would never be so truly cruel as to forbid him from leaving. He’s not his property, after all, and no matter how rotten Oikawa’s become, he still recognises that, at least.

Iwaizumi starts out of his reverie as Hinata brushes past him, his strides quick and measured, as he closes the door behind him with a soft thud. There is a peaceful silence in the room, the candles extinguished and the gauzy curtains fluttering in the breeze coming from the slightly-open window. Iwaizumi rubs vigorously at his eyes with the palm of his hand, realising blearily just how late it’s gotten – _blast_ , he’s only got two more hours of sleep after this before he’ll have to wake up for morning patrol – and turns, ready to leave through the door, when he pauses.

He looks back at the bed, at the thin figure of Oikawa, lying gently on the soft throws of the bed, and he sighs. Iwaizumi walks towards him, and permits himself a small touch – just a small ghosting of his fingertips over the lines of Oikawa’s face – then his hand tightens into a fist, and he sighs. With a gentle, careful movement, he arranges Oikawa properly so he’s not hanging half off the bed, pulls the covers tight, and tucks him in.

***

“So tell me, _Your Highness_ , what can have brought you today to my humble domain, of all places?” Daishou Suguru’s voice is deep, and oily, and every word he speaks makes Iwaizumi want to loose a punch at his face. Today, he and Oikawa are standing in the receiving room of Daishou’s elaborate palace, more elaborate, some might say, that some of the inner rooms of the sultan’s palace itself – although those who said so daren’t say so in public of course, for fear of having their bowels cut out.

The lord of Nohebi himself is clothed in a long robe of cotton, the long white sleeves draped casually over his arms and the tips of his gold-leaf sandals peeking out of the bottom of the robe. His hair is covered by a white headdress secured by a black band, although sweaty strands of his brown hair stick out of the headdress and partially cover the left side of his forehead. Iwaizumi doesn’t like him at first sight, and he knows Oikawa doesn’t either, but he doesn’t show it, at least.

Because, no matter how sly Daishou is, no matter how good he is at playing the games that are required of nobles of the peerage, Oikawa is equally sly, equally good at political manipulation. He’s had plenty of practice, after all, in the convoluted, entangled environment of the inner palace. So he gives an equally smarmy smile and executes a complicated bow, which Daishou has no choice but to return.

“Lord Daishou, I come here today regarding a very… sensitive matter.” Here he pauses, as if weighing his words carefully, although Iwaizumi knows that the pause is fully deliberate, intended to raise the suspense and heighten Daishou’s curiosity. It works. The lord leans forward, his eyes narrowing with a bright spark of interest lighting them.

“A… sensitive matter?” he drawls, and Iwaizumi can practically see him licking his lips.

Oikawa nods confidentially, and leans even closer. “One which few know,” he murmurs, his lips barely moving. “A very private, confidential matter which must… _must_ stay between us. I fear it is about the king.”

A sharp intake of breath, then Daishou nods, cautiously, prompting him to continue. The malevolent, inquisitive gleam in his eyes doesn’t diminish.

“As you know,” Oikawa continues, his words coming out slow and pedantic, “our king – may the gods bless him, my dear father – has been growing, ah, _erratic_ , of late.” Here he looks up, receiving a quick nod of affirmation from Daishou, and is encouraged to continue.

“He has made many political moves which have been inadvisable for one of his experience, and for one with so many _… talented_ advisors, if I may say so.” There is another deliberate pause here, leaving no doubt whatsoever as to whom he is referring to. A slight curl of satisfaction at the edge of the lord’s lips is all that represents his reaction, but it is enough to show that Oikawa’s making progress.

“The recent war with our neighbouring kingdom, for example.” Oikawa leans over to the nearby dressing table and picks up the wooden globe on the table, spinning it with a bored finger as he reclines lazily on the throws that line the floor. There is a quiet scraping sound as the globe turns, then he stops it with a precise finger, touching lightly on the lands of Kitagawa Daiichi – what _used_ to be Kitagawa Daiichi.

Another pause, this time thick with a latent tension that needs no words to express. Iwaizumi finds himself unconsciously holding his breath, and sees that Daishou is doing the same. He has to admit, the prince does have a way with words, no matter how much of a selfish, self-centred brat he can be. Oikawa _knows_ people, knows them well, knows their dark sides and their insecurities and their weaknesses, and he has no qualms about using them to his advantage.

“It was an ill-advised conquest, one I believe was opposed by many of his most trusted advisors. The ones who condoned it, of course, were nothing more than fools. Of course, we _won_ the conquest, but at such a cost! Lives lost, resources wasted, so many opportunities forgone, and all for a barren, tiny island _. Such_ a pity. If only the king had listened to those wise, farseeing naysayers… The battle could have been easier won, or we could have directed our resources elsewhere.”

Even now Iwaizumi thinks he’s laying it on a bit thick, but one look at Daishou tells him otherwise. The disgusting man is lapping it all up, the words clearly a balm to his injured pride.

“ _Such_ a pity,” Oikawa repeats, shaking his head and exhaling a sigh of regret. “So many things wasted that day, and all because the advice of our master’s wisest advisors went unheeded. Say,” he exclaims suddenly, as if the thought had just occurred to him, and turns large, innocent eyes towards Daishou. “Were you not one of the advisors who spoke out against the king’s decision?”

Daishou’s face splits into a wide, smug smile, and he brushes back the sweaty strands of his hair sticking out of the headdress. He bobs his head from side to side, a self-deprecating motion, but it’s obviously a perfunctory one, done only to satisfy custom. He’s clearly expecting more praise, and Oikawa, duly, gives it to him.

“ _Such_ a disservice to so valuable a member of the king’s court,” Oikawa murmurs, shaking his head sadly. “The king should have _listened_ to you. If he had… ah, I know not why he did not. You are one of his oldest advisors, after all, and one of the best – if I may offer my humble opinion from sitting in on multiple court sessions – and it was a great folly to ignore your words. I truly apologise on my father’s behalf.” The words have become as oily as Daishou’s own, and Iwaizumi feels like vomiting.

“Nonsense,” Daishou says, his mouth twisting in mock regret. “The sultan is the sultan, after all, and his word is law.”

“But to ignore your _advice_ ,” Oikawa persists, “so freely given and with such good intentions… No, no, I cannot let such a slight pass. It is too much of a waste of your great and vast talents if you serve only my dear father, if you don’t mind me saying so. You would not be put to full use, I can assure you.”

“What would you have me do then, my prince?” Daishou replies, but this time his voice is edged with a sharp scent of suspicion. He looks at Oikawa, his eyes sleek and narrowed as ever, but the glint in them is dangerous. Iwaizumi unconsciously shifts his hand closer to the hidden dagger strapped to his thigh.

“Support _me_ ,” Oikawa purrs, and the spell is cast. His voice is melodious, sing-song, beautifully pitched, and it makes the air in the room reverberate. The inflection of his words is so powerful, so influential, that Iwaizumi can see Daishou practically melt into the ground. To his credit, he remains standing, although his hands are a little shaky when he grips the hem of his robe. A sardonic smile slashes across his face like a scar.

“Support _you_?” he says, a hint of contempt in his voice. “You attempt a coup?”

“Not a coup,” Oikawa drawls. “A… political reshuffling, if you may call it that. My father is old and unsuited for the throne, and I believe I will be better for the job than he is. Throw your lot in with the crown prince, Lord Daishou, and I promise you will not regret it. You will earn fame and great, great power at my new court, the leeway to do most whatever you want, and I will treasure every valuable piece of advice you can give me. I can guarantee you that much. Does that not sound promising?”

Daishou is swayed. Really, he is, and Iwaizumi can clearly tell. But then he narrows his eyes even further, and they become snake-like slits, full of suspicion and fear.

“I am not here on behalf of my father,” Oikawa says quickly, detecting his inner concerns. “You may not believe me when I say that I have no hidden agenda – I do not wish to trick you into voicing your concerns against the king, nor do I wish to enslave you to my cause – but I propose this as an _alliance_. I am young, and naïve, and I would ask for your valued experience and assistance to make this country great again. Will you join me?”

“So you have joined hands with the resistance?” Daishou murmurs, his tone flat and betraying none of his emotions. “There were rumours, but I didn’t think… I hardly thought…”

“The revolutionaries are but my puppets,” Oikawa parries smoothly, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward slightly. Daishou mirrors his action, and they stare into each other’s eyes, neither giving way, neither faltering. “I accepted their help because it would swell my ranks, and because it would earn me the love of the peasants. Come now, my lord, do you seriously think that I would compromise to a band of riff-raff? I know what is best for the nation, and I know what is best for its nobles. Join me, and you rise to power alongside me. Are you willing to swear a blood-oath to me and my army?”

“Who are those who have already joined you?” Daishou asks, and his tongue flicks out to lick at his bottom lip. Oikawa waves his hand airily. “A fair number, but I cannot tell you until you swear the oath,” he purrs. “They are my allies, after all, and I treasure my allies. I would not wish to see them burn at the stake before our plans were allowed to mature.”

“And supposing I… lent a hand to your little campaign?” the lord says, his voice sleek. “How would it help me?”

“I would give you power,” Oikawa drawls – as if he hasn’t mentioned it at least a thousand times already – “And respect. The name of Nohebi would be one to be feared. Your fiefdom would become one of the richest in the kingdom of Aoba Johsai. Is that not a vision to behold?”

Daishou seems to mull over the matter for a few more moments, but then he looks up sharply, his eyes glistening with a strange, repellent moistness - the eyes of a reptile, waiting to pounce. He smiles, slow and smug, a sharp red line that cuts across the length of his face, and summons his servant forward.

“A blood oath it is,” he says, and reaches for the ceremonial dagger.

***

“I don’t trust him,” Iwaizumi mutters, as they enter the sedan and shut the door tight. He calls out a command to the camel-driver and holds on tight to the edge of the seat as the camels start their slow, rambling walk back to the palace.

“I don’t trust him either,” sighs Oikawa, lying down on his customary seat next to Iwaizumi and absent-mindedly laying his head in his lap. He reaches for the dish of fruits set on the seats opposite, but Iwaizumi automatically picks up the apple slice he’s aiming for and proffers it to his lips.

 “As long as he doesn’t betray us,” Oikawa continues, the words muffled by the apple slice in his mouth, “I don’t care what kind of person he is. I’m more interested in the size of his forces. With the port under his control, the sultan won’t be able to get any supplies from Karasuno or any of the neighbouring kingdoms from any ships they send. And with Ushiwaka controlling the Silk Road entrance, there won’t be any supply caravans coming in overland either .”

“That’s true,” Iwaizumi admits. All of the hairs on his neck had stood up the moment they had entered Daishou’s presence, and every fibre of his body had screamed at him to leave, to mistrust the snake lord with his lying words and smooth tongue, but it _was_ true that Nohebi was critical to the success of their plans. With all the other kingdoms virtually under their control, a less bloody coup is, hopefully, within their reach.

Grudgingly, Iwaizumi has to admit that Oikawa’s done a pretty damn good job convincing the lords to swear oaths to him. Oikawa knows people, knows how to get under their skin, knows what troubles and plagues them, and he clearly knows how to use that to his advantage. Which makes Iwaizumi wonder about all the times they’ve played the temptation game.

He’s long suspected that Oikawa has some idea about his feelings for him, and has been playing with him all along, but with no clear proof, there’s nothing to support that idea. No one could miss the way he looks at Oikawa, the way he lusts after him like a starving man at a lavish buffet, and Oikawa probably knows – or, at least, has some sort of inkling. But it doesn’t matter to Iwaizumi. He knows Oikawa could never, _never_ have feelings for him, and thinking otherwise – that the prince could somehow reciprocate his love – will only bring about depression and despair. So he’d long ago resolved to keep his feelings locked up, to never let Oikawa find out, and to never let things change between them.

It’s the only way he can keep himself from pouncing on the prince and devouring him whole.

 He realises with a start that Oikawa’s been shaking him this entire time, looking at him with concern. “Iwa-chan,” he says anxiously, shaking his shoulder vigorously. “Are you listening to me?”

“No,” Iwaizumi admits brazenly, looking at Oikawa and trying not to let his inner turmoil show. But it was a bad idea – the light glances off his light brown hair and sends sparkles through the irises of his eyes, casting his face in a blaze of colour and highlighting the faint blush that rides across the top of his high cheekbones. There’s that familiar spark which thrills through his body at the touch of Oikawa’s skin against his, permeating even through the thick fabric of his robe, and sending a hot flush through him. He tries to control himself, to blink the vision away, but Oikawa’s leaning closer and his eyelashes are so _long_ and his lips are so plush –

“Ow, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa’s pained yelp brings him back to his senses, and he starts as he realises that he’s caught hold of the prince’s thin arm, and has been squeezing it to a pulp. Quickly, he lets go, mumbling quiet apologies that are hardly intelligible, and Oikawa rubs sulkily at the area on his arm, which is quickly turning red.

“You’ll be giving me bruises next, Iwa-chan,” he complains, pouting. “What were you thinking about? You looked so constipated, I wondered if you had to go to the toilet, Iwa-chan. Do you? I can tell the camel-driver to stop now and let you get off at the side of the road.”

“Sorry,” Iwaizumi says again, mechanically, and stops himself from shaking his head to clear it. Oikawa peers at him, and this time there’s real concern in those big chocolate eyes. “Hey, Iwa-chan, are you really okay?” he asks, his voice worried. “You _never_ apologise. Do you have a fever or something? I thought they said idiots don’t get sick, or something like that.”

“Shittykawa, shut up,” Iwaizumi mutters, but the insult is half-hearted. “I was just thinking, that’s all.”

“So rare of you, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa squeals. “No wonder I could hear some weird sounds. It must have been the sounds of the rusty cogs in your head starting to grind.”

Iwaizumi sighs, but Oikawa’s playful teasing has restored him to normality. He can handle himself now – after all, he’s been doing that for the past few years, he thinks grimly – but then something suddenly comes to mind, and he proceeds to cut rudely into Oikawa’s ramble.

“Oi, Trashykawa,” he growls. “You know what the sultan said that day… About having ‘other plans’ for you…”

Oikawa’s eyes suddenly turn sharp, and that unsettles Iwaizumi slightly. Whenever Oikawa stops being flippant and turns serious, it always makes Iwaizumi feel slightly unbalanced, as if he’s facing an Oikawa he doesn’t know. But then again, he reminds himself, he’s still the same old idiot prince, and smartening up a little doesn’t change that.

“What about it?” he murmurs, his voice toneless and flat. “What, you’re worried about it?”

“I’m worried about _you,_ Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi says, and the brittleness of his voice surprises him. The thought of what’s waiting for Oikawa, what the sultan has in his twisted mind for his first son, is a terrifying thing to think about indeed. “Aren’t _you_ worried at all? Aren’t you afraid of what your father will do?”

Oikawa looks at him then, his eyes large and searching, his body languid and relaxed, his arms draped over the corner of his seat. He smiles. “Why should I?” he asks, his voice as carefree and rich as ever. “I have _you_ , don’t I, Iwa-chan?”

***

“Kunimi,” Iwaizumi says, and his voice is commanding. It is so different from his usual calm tone that Kunimi immediately looks up from the scimitar he’s been sharpening at the grindstone. The sound of the metal against stone makes a screeching, dissonant sound, and Iwaizumi winces. Kunimi stops pumping at the grindstone and lifts the scimitar away.

“What is it, Iwaizumi-san?” he asks, re-sheathing the scimitar and standing to execute a smooth bow. He looks at Iwaizumi with his typical deadpan stare, waiting for the answer to his question.

Iwaizumi frowns as he considers how best to go about this. With the date chosen for the battle a bare two months away, he’s decided that, if he were to rally the royal guards around him, he could only choose those who have yet to swear the blood oath to the king, seeing as how only the personal guards of the king have to do so.

As the captain of the royal guard, technically as part of the ceremony to grant him captaincy he should have had to swear to the sultan as well, but a border conflict had forced the king to rouse himself and leave the capital, and he had sworn it to the crown prince instead.

Something he thanks the gods for every day of his life.

Every time he thinks of Oikawa, the reasonable, rational part of his mind tells him that his loyalty stems from the knowledge of the blood oath he had sworn, the shared intimacy of the age-old ceremony, but in his heart he knows this not to be true. There are many nights on which he recalls the feeling of Oikawa’s lips on the back of his hand as they exchanged the blood vow, recalls the prick of the knife against the tip of his thumb, recalls the heat of Oikawa’s breath on his skin as the prince leaned forward to press a kiss to his forehead, and he knows that it is no simple blood oath that binds them irrevocably to one another. It had been that day that he had gone back to his quarters, loins aflame and heart beating like the drumbeats of the desert folk; it had been that day that he had first pleasured himself with thoughts of Oikawa in his mind.

It is a shameful memory, and not one he wishes to keep, but it is nonetheless ingrained into his mind.

He trusts Kunimi, and out of all the royal guards under his supervision he’s closest to this emotionless, quiet man. Iwaizumi’s hoping that after gaining a promise of his support, Kunimi would be able to approach some of the other guards they trusted to garner their support as well. As captain, many of the guards are afraid of him, and he’s hoping that Kunimi will be the link between them to earn their support.

Although Kunimi is Kageyama’s guard, both he and Oikawa were chary of giving Kageyama the responsibility of speaking to him and revealing their link to the revolution – they both know Kageyama’s temper and impulsiveness, and so important a task cannot be entrusted to him. So Iwaizumi had chosen a day when Kageyama would be having a private chess game with the king, and he had decided to speak to Kunimi now.

“What is it, Iwaizumi-san?” Kunimi repeats the question, his voice as blank as ever, but Iwaizumi has worked with him long enough to recognise the bare hint of impatience that tinges his emotionless speech. Iwaizumi gives an apologetic chuckle, and rubs the back of his head. He takes Kunimi’s arm.

“I have to speak to you about something, and we’d best not do it out in the open,” he murmurs, keeping his voice in an undertone. Kunimi’s dark brows snap down over his eyes, and he bites his lip, but still, Iwaizumi is his captain, and he cannot very well disobey an order from his superior, so he gives a tight nod, and acquiesces. Iwaizumi leads him back to his quarters, where he knows no one will disturb them, and locks the door.

He turns to the other guard, rubbing his hands together unconsciously. When he realises it he stops the nervous action and forces himself to focus on Kunimi, who has sat on the bed and is looking up at him questioningly. The anxiety is burning up inside his chest, forming a vise around his heart, for somehow he feels agonisingly on his toes, as if he cannot breathe – what if Kunimi refuses? What if his loyalty to the sultan is so strong that he would opt to betray both Iwaizumi and Oikawa to their monarch to save his own skin? Although he knows, deep down, that Kunimi isn’t like that, that he wouldn’t do that, the fear and nervousness is still present. Iwaizumi takes a deep breath to calm himself down.

“Kunimi,” he begins, and coughs. “What do you think… of the king?”

Well, that was unexpected. He hadn’t originally planned on starting this way, but it was as good an opening as any. Kunimi blinks several times like a startled jackrabbit, as if he hadn’t expected such a question, but then recovers his original coolness, and peers cautiously up at Iwaizumi through his lashes.

“What do you mean, Iwaizumi-san?” he says, the words halting. Iwaizumi understands his reticence – after, all, no one in their right mind would voice out any negative sentiments towards the sultan, particularly when the latter is a tyrant, and particularly to his superior, not when there is a chance that he might get his head lopped off for doing so. But that is an obstacle he’ll just have to surmount.

So he chooses his words very, very carefully.

“Well, what do you think of him? Is he a good leader, a bad leader, do you love him, do you hate him?”

Kunimi’s eyes go wide, and his head darts frantically from side to side, as if seeking out invisible spies hidden in the wide drapes that shield the window, spies waiting to clap him in irons and drag him into the dungeons for the unforgivable sin of speaking out against the king. But there are no invisible agents of the king, and it’s just Iwaizumi and him in the room.

“I don’t understand, Iwaizumi-san,” he murmurs, and for once his voice is subdued and quiet. Iwaizumi sighs. Well, he’ll just have to be blatant, and gamble his lives on one throw of the dice. He takes a deep breath, and dives in headfirst.

“Oikawa and I have joined the side of the revolution, and we’d like to ask your help,” he says, his voice firm and unwavering, and Kunimi’s eyes widen even further into large grey pools of surprise. There’s a tense silence for a few seconds, then Kunimi breaks it with a loud, exasperated exhalation.

“Forgive me for saying this, Iwaizumi-san, but are you out of your mind?” he says, his voice as deadpan as ever. Iwaizumi bristles, the rudeness unexpected and unprecedented, but as he opens his mouth to speak Kunimi beats him to it. The latter runs his long, elegant fingers through his hair, and resumes speaking casually.

“I didn’t mean that you were out of your mind for joining the revolution, I meant it because you took a huge risk mentioning it to me, so blatantly. What if I were on the side of the king, and reported both you and Oikawa-san to the sultan’s guards? What would you do then?” Kunimi continues, and Iwaizumi winces, because those had been the exact thoughts running through his head. Kunimi’s head is hanging downwards, and Iwaizumi cannot see his expression, but somehow that doesn’t make him worried at all.

“We have to take chances, or we won’t succeed,” Iwaizumi murmurs quietly. “We took a chance on _you_.”

 Kunimi exhales again; this time it is a softer sound, gentler somehow, and he looks up. His eyes are no longer calm, but as fierce as the waves of a stormy grey sea. He nods, once, and Iwaizumi notices that his fingers are gripping tight into the fabric of the bedsheets, so tight that his knuckles have turned white. “I will help you, Iwaizumi-san, and I will speak to the rest of the guards whom I trust. Kindaichi, Tanaka, Nishinoya, Ennoshita, Yamaguchi… I will speak to them, and I will garner their support for you.”

Iwaizumi senses that there is a story behind his easy acceptance, but this is neither the time nor place to ask – and besides, he is not close enough to the man to warrant words on their personal affairs. So he nods his head in satisfaction, and sits down to discuss further details on the subject with Kunimi.

There is a hot flame of excitement running through him, for it is now that he realises – _that he fully realises –_ the wheels of change have started to turn, and the revolution has truly begun, at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did I mention YURI ON ICE  
> god kill me blame viktor for how late this chapter is  
> [tumblr](http://kitcatkandy.tumblr.com/), hmu, comments and kudos are love :3


	11. Hinata - Rumour Has It

“They’re saying that the prince has joined the revolution, you know.”

Hinata chokes on his pork bun.

Asahi sets down the tray hurriedly and rushes over to him, almost tripping over the multiple pillows and throws on the floor of the dimly-lit room, but eventually he manages to stumble his way through. He squawks like an agitated hen, trying to pat Hinata ineffectually on his back and fluttering around trying to make sure Hinata doesn’t choke. After a few seconds, Hinata recovers his breath (no thanks to Asahi’s efforts at all) and swipes at the inadvertent tears that have been squeezed out of his eyes.

“I’m okay,” he manages, coughing, although he mostly just wants Asahi to settle down and stop prancing around. “I’m okay,” he repeats again, and pats the cushion next to him. Asahi settles down uneasily, and it’s not without a few more repetitions of flustered ‘are you okay’s and ‘are you sure you don’t need help’s before he finally calms down.

Hinata looks over at him, and has to repress a giggle. Asahi looks absurdly ridiculous perching uncomfortably on the bright pink cushion placed in the room by its previous occupant, his long legs dangling uselessly around him and his big body hunched over as if he’s unsure where all his limbs should go. Asahi is large, awkward, uncomfortable with the size of his body except when he’s working in his element – the kitchen – and Hinata finds it absolutely endearing.

Asahi pouts, an adorable motion, completely belying his large and intimidating exterior. He repeats his statement, and Hinata is suddenly and reluctantly brought back to the present.

“Which prince?” he asks, because really, there’s more than one prince, and who even is Asahi referring to? He thinks about Prince Oikawa joining the revolution, and dismisses it as hogwash. The crown prince would never be so stupid as to join the rebels in their (seemingly hopeless) endeavour to kick the sultan off his throne – the king’s armies are a legendary size, after all, and Hinata cannot imagine any force being formidable enough to counter those numbers.

Prince Kageyama, on the other hand… Perhaps he really is that stupid. It wouldn’t surprise Hinata any. He pouts as he thinks of the prickly, taciturn prince.

Asahi shrugs. It is a subtle moving of his large shoulders, but his eyes shift restlessly about as if wary of prying ears and eyes. He is wise to be wary; Hinata is no stranger to the fact that, in the inner palace, walls have ears and doors have eyes, and any stray word – especially against the royals – is bound to get one disembowelled and thrown to the eagles as carrion.

The big man leans closer, and whispers into Hinata’s ear. His breath is hot and spicy.

“They’re saying,” Asahi murmurs, in that quiet way of his, “that it’s Prince Kageyama involved.”

Asahi’s words come back to him again when he’s standing in the garden, near the gates, picking flowers for Kiyoko-san’s room. The older woman has been feeling poorly these few days, but has been bearing the pain with brutal stoicism; it wouldn’t do to be sick in the harem, after all, because they’re all replaceable.

What’s most important is that it’s not just Oikawa who partakes of her, and that the king also takes his fill. Although the king has seemed more preoccupied with other business, and doesn’t visit the harem as frequently as before, and Oikawa’s obsession with Hinata seems to have intensified to the point of excluding all other slaves from intimacy with him, it would still take a toll on Kiyoko-san’s body if he or the king were to request her presence in their chambers.

Kageyama is the only one of the royal family who hasn’t yet taken a slave to bed, so the gossips say, and Hinata had had to brush off the strange twinge in his chest when he had first heard that.

But the point is, Kiyoko-san’s been down with something the past few days which has left her with a sore throat and a blinding headache, and yet she’s still as calm and patient as ever. Hinata marvels at her strength and forbearance, especially since she has to deal with him on a daily basis, and he knows he can be quite a handful at times. Suga-san from the infirmary is doing his best, but it’s not good enough, and he knows she must be feeling absolutely horrible.

So he’d decided to pick some lavender flowers from the garden to cheer up the gloomy stuffiness of Kiyoko-san’s room. He knows they’re not exactly her favourite flower, but datura don’t flower until later in the year, and anyway they’re apparently horribly poisonous.

That’s when he hears the voices, and Asahi’s words return to his mind.

“Shut up, Tobio-chan,” a voice hisses, and Hinata cannot place it, so he frowns. The name is strangely-familiar, a word hovering on the edge of his memory and yet on the tip of his tongue. It fills him with a peculiar warmth that has him crouching down lower in the bushes and pulling the hood lower over his bright head of hair to conceal the flush that suddenly rises to his cheeks. He peeks out, cautiously, over the tips of the lavender flowers, and sees three figures standing just beyond him, having a hushed discussion behind one of the pillars of the corridors beside the garden.

Their words are hushed, soft, and he realises that this is a private conversation. It’s only sheer luck that he’s conveniently hidden by a very large, very dense bush, and also that he’s very short (for once he thanks his parents for his height). Hinata is wondering whether he should shuffle away very slowly and try to escape without alerting the group, but then he hears the second, shorter figure speaks, and he stops, because _he knows that voice all too well_.

“Oikawa-san,” Kageyama says, “If you would only tell me what to expect – ”

“Shittykawa, you shut up,” this new voice is surely Iwaizumi’s voice, the captain of the royal guard, and Hinata’s eyes go wide. What is Oikawa and his personal guard’s business with Kageyama? After all, the crown prince’s hatred and jealousy of the younger prince is legendary throughout the inner palace, and whenever Hinata had inadvertently chanced upon them meeting, the tension between them had been thick enough to cut with a cheese knife.

So what are they doing here together, all muffled up in thick cloaks and hoods that hide their faces, in the middle of an obscenely-hot day?

Hinata shifts slightly closer to hear the conversation clearer, and Kageyama suddenly turns his head. Hinata freezes, terrified that Kageyama’s somehow detected his presence through his superhuman senses, and that he’ll be hauled out of the bushes and sentenced to death for listening in on what is _clearly a private conversation_ , and he’ll never see Kageyama’s adorable pouty smile again –

But Kageyama doesn’t do anything, and he frowns before he turns back to the group. Hinata lets out a soft exhale, and tucks himself closer to the ground.

“We don’t _owe_ it to you to tell you anything of the sort, Tobio-chan,” Oikawa is saying, a spiteful tinge to his voice. “I mean, you practically muscled your way in where you weren’t invited, and so I don’t see anything wrong with throwing you to the crocodiles without telling you anything – ”

“We’re going to meet with one of our allies, Lord Ushijima Wakatoshi of Shiratorizawa, and he’s an extremely frank man. So don’t be surprised when he says things that seem overly honest or offensive, that’s just the way he is. And don’t mention anything about his garden, or what we discussed with the rebels, or anything about the revolution at all. Let Oikawa and I do most of the talking. You got that?” Iwaizumi’s deep voice cuts into whatever rant Oikawa’s going off on, and the crown prince whines. Honestly, he seems more like a child than an arrogant, princely noble now, and Hinata’s lips curls involuntarily.

“Rude, Iwa-chan!” he cries, and even through the shadows cast by his hood, Hinata can see the pout formed by his lips. He recoils a little and his fingers dig themselves into the mud.

“Let’s go,” Iwaizumi continues brusquely, ignoring Oikawa’s sulky protests, and he walks away. Oikawa shuffles quickly away from Kageyama’s side and catches up with Iwaizumi, leaving Kageyama trailing behind them. They’re headed for the main gates, leading out onto the main street, and Hinata, now, has no doubt of their business here.

He crawls unsteadily out of the lavender bushes, the bouquet he has picked limp and pliant in his sweaty hand. He swipes at the sheen of sweat on his forehead, and has to wait for a few seconds before the burn in his thighs disappears and he can stand up to leave. His legs are shaky, and it takes him a few more seconds to stabilise himself.

His head is thrumming with the weight of the words he has just heard. The conversation seems only to confirm what Asahi had told him two days earlier – that Kageyama is involved in the revolution, and not just Kageyama, but Iwaizumi and yes, Oikawa as well, although Hinata had not expected the latter.

Hinata knows that he’s not the brightest star in the sky, but even he can put two and two together, and Iwaizumi had made his words pretty plain. They had spoken of a Lord from Shiratorizawa, a neighbouring fief to the capital city, and had mentioned plans made with the revolutionaries. He thinks, very hard, harder than he has ever thought for a while, and then the implications hit him – Oikawa and Kageyama have made plans with some of the other Lords from the neighbouring kingdoms, to garner their support and – more importantly – their soldiers.

There are a ton of questions which hit him – why aren’t those Lords bound to service under the sultan? Isn’t someone going to notice the covert expeditions taken by the prince out of the palace? And if he – _he_ , a lowly slave, had suddenly become privy to such crucial information, could their secrets not have already leaked to some other, less benevolent party?

Suddenly he is struck by a feeling of terrible fear. He doesn’t exactly know the punishment for treason to the king, but from the horror stories Kiyoko has told him occasionally to get him to shut up, it’s never something simple. Likely involving extreme torture, public flaying, and eventual death.

He doesn’t want that for Kageyama.

Then he suddenly feels dizzy, and his chest starts to hurt. He stumbles over nothing at all, the bouquet falling into the mud as he clutches his chest, and tries to breathe normally, but he _can’t_ – there’s lead flowing through his veins and blood rushing through his head and all of a sudden, he thinks of Kageyama’s smile.

 _He’s screwed_ , he knows that well enough, because Kageyama’s smile has the power to make his knees go weak.

***

It’s not the only bombshell he’s hit with that day – far from it, and as luck would have it, the prince is once again concerned. A public announcement is made in the middle of the day by the master of the hall, a thin-faced man with a scraggly goatee and small cunning eyes, of the impending marriage of Prince Kageyama to Princess Yachi of Karasuno. Hinata had heard whisperings of the small, neighbouring kingdom before, of the barren land which had once been glorious, but its monarch had been usurped by one of the generals, who now reigned supreme through the young princess. It had quickly fallen into ruin, and the only reason why it has not yet been consumed by the raging fire of Aoba Johsai lies in its tyrannical and often brutal army.

The other servants, those who know more than Hinata does, say that their nation’s king urgently needs an alliance with Karasuno to fight off the impending threat of the revolution. This sends a ripple of unease through the crowd of servants listening to the announcement, because before now the revolution had not been seen as a severe threat. But to be so great as to warrant a royal alliance – the threat must loom large indeed.

In a bizarre sort of way, Hinata’s thankful for the first shock he’d received, because it had taught him to school his face into a semblance of calm when he first heard the news. He’s a naturally excitable person, not one to hold back his exclamations or emotions, and somehow when he had heard the announcement it had made his heart twist, painfully, suddenly, and he had all but dropped to his feet in spasms of agony.

He does not understand his feelings even now, does not understand the hot heavy warmth that is spreading through his chest, sending throbs through his head, and pounding a deep bass rhythm through his stomach. Because he’s felt pain before, and he’s not unfamiliar with the feeling, but this is an altogether different emotion.

This emotion gnaws away at his nerves and sends his teeth chattering. It makes him frustrated, not knowing why or how he’s feeling this way, not knowing why he’d felt like spontaneously crying, with only the stolid presence of Asahi at his side to prevent him from letting his emotions get the better of him.

He thinks of Kageyama’s eyes, how they glitter and gleam in the dark, how he has the unconscious habit of biting at his lips as he speaks, haltingly, like his words are heavy and burdensome, and Hinata thinks that, maybe, yes, he _does_ understand, just a little bit, after all.

He has always believed in honesty, candour, forthrightness, and the most direct path of action. Hinata knows his way around the inner palace by now, knows when and where most people are and will be – barring any unforeseen circumstances, of course. He knows that on the third days of the week, Prince Kageyama practises his swordplay in the gardens alone, since Oikawa and Iwaizumi have to attend the former’s weekly chess session with the king. The royal gardens are secluded, safe ground, and they’ve met there before.

Hinata has to stop to wonder for a moment about his relationship with the prince as he’s making his plans. What are they, after all? Acquaintances? Hardly, because their banter goes beyond that of mere acquaintanceship. Friends?

The word still weighs heavy on his tongue, and it feels not quite right, but it’s the best he’s got. They’re friends, then, unlikely friends, with perhaps a little too much sexual tension between the two of them. Hinata decides that he’s satisfied with that, and ignores the irritating niggle in his chest at the thought.

Two days later, he lays in bed for a little longer than usual in the morning, listening for the usual bustle of the women in the other room to fade away before he makes a move. It’s a slow day today, apparently, with Prince Oikawa and the sultan occupied playing chess, and so most of the harem women are resting and relaxing. Kiyoko has been allowed out of the palace on an errand, so she’s told him, and thus he’s left mostly alone.

Although the other women had shown him animosity in his first few days in the harem, due to his immediate and inadvertent claiming of the prince’s favour, their hostility has mostly died out by now. Having Kiyoko as his guardian had done wonders, apparently, since she’s well-respected by many of the other women. Now, happily, their antagonism has been reduced to quiet, snide remarks and very pointed cuts, so he’s mostly left on his own. It’s not the best of situations, since Hinata thrives on companionship and being around other people, but he’d rather bear the burden of loneliness than have to withstand the hatred of the other women.

He dons his lightest robe and makes sure his hair is tidy before he leaves. After all, he has the most atrocious bedhead, and it wouldn’t do to let the prince see him in such an unkempt state.

When he’s done with his quick toilette, he hurries out of his room and down the corridor towards the main door. The other women in the main lounge ignore him as he passes, chattering amongst themselves or staring blankly into the mirrors on the walls. His small stature helps him pass unnoticed as well, and he slips out of the door.

Nishinoya’s on guard outside. The two of them have struck up an unlikely friendship, stemming from the time Oikawa had driven Hinata too hard and he’d collapsed on the ground when Nishinoya had been bringing him back to the harem chambers. The older man had brought him to the baths and seen to it that he’d been pampered and primped by the bath attendants, who, he had cheerfully told Hinata, were close personal friends of his.

Nishinoya seems to know everyone in the palace, and his is a gregarious personality which Hinata greatly identifies with. They are cut from the same cloth, the two of them, and Hinata finds himself able to let loose and laugh along with the guard whenever they have the chance. Nishinoya seems to have taken him under his wing after the bath incident, and always gives him preferential treatment.

From Hinata’s observation of the guard rotations, it’s Nishinoya’s turn to guard the harem chambers that day, a lucky coincidence. Hinata knows that Nishinoya would always give in to him, whether it be smuggling treats for him from Asahi, or letting him out into the garden at night to take a breather.

“Noya-san!” he chimes, shutting the door behind him and bouncing enthusiastically forward. The other man spins around and flashes a bright smile at him, the orange highlight in his hair glistening even in the dim light.

“Shouyou!!” he screeches, his voice emanating through the hall, and he hugs Hinata with an unparalleled ferocity. “What’ll it be this time? Want me to ask Asahi for another pastry? You want to go and pick flowers in the garden again? Or you want some goods from the infirmary?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Noya-san knows everyone and everything, so if you ever need anything, just ask!”

“Garden today, please, Noya-san,” Hinata says, smiling widely and pressing a small corsage of lavender into the other man’s hand. “This is for Asahi-san, as you asked.”

The smile on Nishinoya’s face only widens as he accepts the bunch of flowers, tucking it away securely into his robes and patting the spot to make sure it’s secure. “He’ll like that,” he murmurs, and his face softens. Hinata looks away, suddenly feeling as if the scene is too intimate, as if it were a private moment not for his witnessing.

Nishinoya quickly clears his throat, an embarrassed, self-conscious sound which draws Hinata’s attention back to him. “The garden, you say, my young protégé?” he says, his voice suddenly loud and ridiculously pompous. “No problem. As long as you keep out of sight of the others, you won’t be missed, blah blah, you know the drill. Come back quickly and we can have a chat!” He waves Hinata off with a friendly flutter of his hand and returns to standing at attention in front of the large, heavily-ornamented door. The black of his hair shines and ripples as he moves restlessly, his body in a constant, never-ending pattern of motion which makes Hinata smile affectionately.

“Thanks, Noya-san!” he chirps happily, and trundles quickly down the main corridor.

***

As expected, he finds Kageyama in a secluded corner of the garden, practising his swordplay. He’d chanced upon this scene by accident, one day when he’d been rushing past with his load of overdue laundry in his arms towards the washerwomen, and he had made it his business after that to find out if the incident was a part of the prince’s weekly schedule, or if it had been but a one-off thing. Nishinoya’s contacts are useful things, and if Hinata asks him questions, he doesn’t judge.

Hinata stands behind a pillar for a moment, watching the bright arc of the prince’s sword as he slices it in a fierce movement above his head and then straight forward, into the abdomen of an imaginary enemy.

There’s that familiar expression on Kageyama’s face now, the expression which makes a low burn settle in the pit of Hinata’s stomach. It’s a curious mix of ferocity and quiet calm as he twirls the sword in complicated patterns and dodges around the enemies in his head. He jabs, stabs, dances elegantly around the clearing as Kunimi watches from the sidelines. Hinata holds his breath.

His movements are beautiful, clean-cut, hypnotic almost, and in Hinata’s mind he can actually _see_ the hordes of dark-cloaked, dangerous men swarming around the tall figure of the prince. Falling to the side, cut down brutally by the bright, shining sword, and the dark slash of Kageyama’s hair flickering across his skin.

One last stab of the sword towards the ground, and Kageyama collapses down beside it, resting his weight on the balls of his feet. His breathing is laboured, heavy, and droplets of sweat cascade off his forehead as he rests his weight on the sword. There is hardly any other sound in the clearing, and suddenly to Hinata it seems as if time is suspended, the air is charged with tension, and the ragged panting of Kageyama’s breath is magic.

Something prompts him to step forward then, and he clears his throat with a quiet cough. Kageyama’s head whips up immediately, his pupils bright blue and burning, then as he sees Hinata his eyelids droop and he tilts his head down again.

“Oh, so it’s just _you_ ,” he murmurs, his voice quiet and petulant. The dark bangs of his fringe fall forward and hide his face from Hinata’s view.

“What do you mean, it’s just _me_?” Hinata exclaims, feeling mortally offended. He crosses his arms over his chest and frowns down at the crouched-over figure of the prince. “I came here to speak to you, you know.”

“About what?” Kageyama sighs, then he straightens up and yanks the sword out of the ground. Hinata finds himself unconsciously wishing that he’d stayed bent over, because that ferocious glare Kageyama is levelling at him is nothing to laugh about.

He opens his mouth to speak, to mention the reason for his intruding on Kageyama’s privacy today, but then his eyes stray to the silent, unmoving figure of Kunimi, standing beside the tree and watching their interactions with hooded eyes. He swallows – perhaps it’s not the best idea to mention the revolution out here in the open, especially when others are around to hear.

He lifts his hand and tugs hesitantly at Kageyama’s sleeve, a small motion that almost goes unnoticed by the other man as he tucks the sword back into its sheath. But when he feels it, his eyes widen and dart towards the spot on his sleeve where Hinata’s fingers are clasped.

Hinata ignores the fact that he’s just, _unbidden_ , touched the member of the royal family, and leans forward.

“ _Can we speak in private_ ,” he hisses, in a conspiratorial whisper, hoping that Kunimi can’t hear what he’s saying.

Kageyama’s eyebrows rise high on his forehead as he regards Hinata with large eyes. His mouth opens and closes as he tries to find words to speak, then he seems to regain his bearings and glances back at the figure of Kunimi, standing beside the – _their_ – orange tree.

He looks back at Hinata, and lets out an exaggerated sigh that has Hinata fuming in an instant. “Alright, dumbass,” he mutters, that familiar adorable pout returning to his face, “come on, follow me.”

Kageyama beckons towards Kunimi, who leaves his post and walks behind them as they head into the cooler interior of the palace. Hinata doesn’t say anything for fear of attracting attention from other unwanted parties, and instead tries to keep up with Kageyama’s long strides. They head deeper into the palace, and suddenly Hinata realises with a start that they’re headed towards Kageyama’s own chambers.

This wasn’t what he’d meant when he’d asked for a more private place to speak in, and the knowledge makes him falter a step. He hasn’t really had good experiences – _and that’s understating it a bit_ – with members of the royal family, and Oikawa and Kageyama _are_ related, after all. Perhaps Kageyama had thought that Hinata’s words had been an invitation to bed –

No, no, _no_. Hinata shakes the thought out of his head. Kageyama’s been nothing but kind, albeit a little prickly, towards him, and to think that he would have such base motives in mind seemed unthinkable.

But then he remembers the arrogant smile on Oikawa’s face, the long, thin, _cruel_ fingers dipping into his body like consent meant nothing to them, and he shudders.

Kageyama catches hold of his shoulder with a rough grip and shakes him, startling him out of his haze. He turns wide, confused eyes to the prince, and balks at the look of anger on his face.

“Do you think I am my brother?” Kageyama hisses, and his teeth are clenched. “I wouldn’t _rape_ you. Come on, dumbass, walk a little faster.”

Then Hinata comes back to himself, and he laughs. It is a carefree laugh, and he bounces along to keep up with Kageyama, who seems to be walking faster than ever.

“Don’t call me dumbass,” he giggles. “Don’t you know any other words, Bakageyama?”

The look of utter shock on Kageyama’s face at the insult is enough to send Hinata into a roaring peal of laughter.

***

When they reach Kageyama’s chambers, buried deep inside the inner palace, Kunimi draws closer and pulls his cloak around Hinata as Kageyama opens the door, decorated with beautiful blue and green mosaics. It’s mid-afternoon right now, and as such many of the other occupants of the rooms are resting in their chambers. Oikawa’s room lies diagonally opposite from Kageyama’s, it appears, since Iwaizumi is standing outside on guard. Apparently, their chess session seems to have ended early.

His eyebrows rise on his high forehead as he sees Hinata being trundled along into Kageyama’s room, but Hinata gives him a quick thumbs-up, and he flashes a very attractive smile.

“Iwaizumi-san is kind of handsome,” he blurts out unthinkingly as he enters the room, and Kunimi coughs.

Kageyama’s face flushes blotchily as he removes his cloak and throws it carelessly onto one of the large pillows adorning the bed. He nods to Kunimi and gestures for him to leave, an order which makes the guard’s lip tighten, but one he follows nonetheless.

As the door closes behind Kunimi with a quiet click, Hinata trots over to one of the plush chairs settled on the ground and plops himself down. The pillows are surprisingly soft, despite the elaborate embroidery done on them, and he hugs one tightly to his chest. Kageyama makes an exasperated sound deep in his throat, and he sits himself down on another chair next to Hinata.

“Well?” he demands, his voice rough. “What did you want to talk about?”

Now that Hinata’s finally found the opportunity to be alone with Kageyama and say the words he wants to say, he finds himself hesitating, something so out of character for him that he is surprised at himself. He grips tightly into the colourful embroidery of the cushion on his lap and blinks owlishly up at Kageyama, who’s looking at him with hooded, expectant eyes.

“Well…” he mumbles, echoing the other man. “I’ve been hearing some rumours around the palace…”

He looks up timidly, and suddenly something in Kageyama’s expression makes him blurt out: “Is it true that you’re getting married?”

Those weren’t the words he’d wanted to say, not at all; after all, he’s really only concerned with the matter of the revolution, isn’t he? He doesn’t care about the marriage, no he doesn’t, no matter how odd and tingly the thought of Kageyama married to some other woman makes him feel. All that he cares about – all that he’d _wanted_ to talk about – is the matter of the revolution, and whether he or the other servants would be involved.

That’s all that matters to him. His safety, and the safety of the other servants in the palace he’d grown to love. Asahi, Nishinoya, Sugawara, and the others who had made life easier for him. That was all he cared about, and that was all he’d wanted to ask.

So why had he asked about the marriage?

He knows it to be true, after all. It isn’t like the news of the marriage had come to him as the news of the revolution had, on the wings of rumours and gossip which might have been untrue. It had come through an actual announcement by the master of the hall, and he had had no earthly reason to doubt it.

The moment the words leave his mouth he bites his lip and looks down at his lap. He doesn’t want to see Kageyama’s expression, and he doesn’t want to let the deep flush on his cheeks show.

The room is shrouded in silence for a few moments, then Kageyama sighs.

“It’s true,” he answered, his voice emotionless. “I take it you’ve heard the news, then?”

Hinata finds his hands twisting in his lap, and he forces himself to keep still. The room is too silent, too immovable, and suddenly he is all too aware that he is alone in the room with Kageyama, and that the prince sits only a short distance away.

Today, Kageyama is clothed in a simple black robe complementing the colour of his hair, secured with a blue sash around his waist. The sweat from his earlier exertions sticks to his body and makes the thin fabric cling to the lines of his body, and his biceps tense as he raises an arm to wipe the sweat off his forehead.

The room is too hot, too stifling, and Hinata flaps the collar of his robe, gasping at the cool breeze that flutters over his overheated skin. He swallows as he watches Kageyama’s eyes drop, almost inevitably, to the protrusions of his collarbone and the white skin that shows as the collar droops.

“That’s not what I meant to ask,” he says softly, and his voice is surprisingly calm.

“Still, what of it?” Kageyama is still speaking with that flat, emotionless tone, driving Hinata to distraction, and his hand is still roaming restlessly around the hard wood of the table. “I presume you’ve heard the details already. The marriage will be to Princess Yachi of the neighbouring kingdom Karasuno.”

“I know,” Hinata replies. He blinks several times at the floor, then takes a deep breath, and rustles up his courage. He turns, and bites his lip. “Kageyama?”

Kageyama lifts his head and stares at him. They remain in that position for a while, neither daring to move, neither daring to break the silence, and Hinata feels the quiet burn in his stomach start to roil and tremble.

With a slow and deliberate movement, almost unconscious, Kageyama lifts a hand to Hinata’s cheek. Hinata feels his eyes widen and he opens his mouth to speak, but as Kageyama’s fingers touch his skin, he feels the faintest tremor ripple through the other man, feels the almost-imperceptible quiver in his fingers as they touch, and he closes his mouth.

The contact is queer, _intimate_ almost, and Kageyama is looking at him as if he had been born anew – like something precious, treasured, _loved_.

“I don’t want that to happen,” he says, the words spilling involuntarily out of his mouth, and he watches in a kind of disconnected daze as Kageyama’s mouth falls open slightly. The words seem strangely inadequate somehow, he feels, and so he repeats them once again. “I don’t want that.”

Kageyama’s mouth twists into a bitter, ironic smile, and his eyes slip down, half-mast and cold. “I don’t want that either,” he murmurs, “but what choice do I have?”

“There is always a choice,” Hinata whispers, aware of how cliché his words are, but at the same time they are all that come to mind. A bead of sweat rolls off the side of Kageyama’s jaw, and Hinata watches it slide, in slow-motion, across the plateau of his skin. His tongue darts out to moisten his lips, and it accidentally ghosts across the tip of Kageyama’s ring finger.

Oops. He hadn’t actually realised how close Kageyama’s hand had been to his lips, but oh well.

Kageyama doesn’t move, except for a quick intake of breath, but his fingers slip across Hinata’s cheek and down to his chin. This time he grips hold with a gentle caress, and the motion would seem almost assertive and domineering, were it not for the faint tremble in his fingers, and the light blush that sweeps across his own cheekbones.

They’re nice cheekbones, Hinata thinks dazedly, high and flushed and sharp as a knife, and oh god, what is he _thinking_ , because he feels as if he’d like to _lick_ across the expanse of tanned skin from his cheekbone to the underside of his jaw –

Kageyama leans closer, and Hinata finds himself leaning closer as well. Kageyama’s fingers tighten on his jaw, his pull an inexorable force bringing them closer together, and when their lips finally meet, the kiss is surprisingly sweet.

Hinata thinks Kageyama’s cast a spell on him. There’s no other way to describe the way he’s feeling now, after all, otherworldly and ethereal and completely _unreal_. Kageyama’s lips are hot, burning like an anvil, and the way they move almost shyly across Hinata’s own is like a match, set to fire. Hinata finds himself drawing closer, pressing firmer, and his hand comes up to hold on to Kageyama’s neck.

If he doesn’t hold on, he might well fall, he thinks hazily, fall into the abyss that is Kageyama.

Hinata’s other hand lifts and threads itself through Kageyama’s hair in a gentle motion. The strands of his dark hair are soft to the touch and feel like a field of pearl grass. He pulls Kageyama towards him and they continue kissing, twisting and turning their heads as they attempt to draw the other closer and closer, until there is no space left between them.

The kiss is chaste and tender, like a flower when first in bloom. Hinata feels his heart thudding a heavy rhythm in his chest, sending his eyelids fluttering closed and setting his every nerve ending on fire.

Kageyama is the first to break away, gasping a little for breath, his eyes open in small heavy-lidded slits. His breaths are coming fast, uneven, and Hinata has to smile a little at that. The blush on his face is back in full force, spreading quickly over his ears and even down to his neck, until his entire face has turned an adorable, peach-coloured pink.

Hinata trails his lips over the path of the blush, tracing the lines of Kageyama’s face. He lands kisses on Kageyama’s nose, cheeks, eyelids, and even drags his tongue over the underside of his jaw as he had wanted to. Kageyama shudders under his touch, his other hand now resting on his thigh and inching steadily up under his robe.

His fingers are like hot coals, and they leave a burning trail up the skin of Hinata’s calf. He gasps as Kageyama grazes his nails across the sensitive skin on his inner thigh, a deliberate touch that is accompanied by his lips returning to Hinata’s own. Emboldened by Kageyama’s movements, Hinata opens his mouth and tentatively lets his tongue dart out.

The kiss becomes hot and heavy, intense, and Hinata shifts closer. He realises belatedly that he’s now sitting in Kageyama’s lap, pressing his body flush against the other’s, Kageyama’s thigh pressed in between his legs. There’s an insistent pressure at his abdomen, and he makes an involuntary whine in the back of his throat. The hand at Kageyama’s neck dances downwards and grazes teasingly across the prominent bulge at his crotch.

Kageyama lets out what sounds like a strangled curse. His tongue dips into Hinata’s mouth and there is a newfound aggression in the way he kisses him, all tongue and teeth and fierce nips at Hinata’s lips. Hinata mewls into his mouth and grips tighter into his hair. Kageyama tastes dark and rich, like dates and seasoned lamb, and the taste is addictive.

This time it is Hinata who breaks away from the kiss first, his face flushed and his lips inflamed. Kageyama moves his mouth to Hinata’s neck, drawing lines of fire across his skin and licking the sweat off him. He scrapes his teeth over the base of Hinata’s jugular and bites down hard near his collarbone. Hinata gasps, feeling pain-pleasure shoot down his spine at the feeling.

He peeks down at Kageyama, and is immediately enthralled. Kageyama’s eyes are burning with the same fire that is present during his swordplay, unrestrained and dangerous and _wild_. He makes love the way he fights, like an animal, with his fingers trailing heat over every inch of Hinata’s skin and his eyes burning through to Hinata’s soul.

“Stop,” Hinata manages, because he’s going to overheat. “ _Stop_!”

Surprisingly, Kageyama stops, his fingers halting where they had been at Hinata’s waist, going downwards towards dangerous territory. He blinks, several times, as if recalling himself from somewhere far, far away, then he leans forward, so his head rests on Hinata’s chest, and sighs. It is a deep sigh.

“Dumbass,” he murmurs, and the word is quiet, but infused with a reluctant affection that makes Hinata’s chest clench, and not in a bad way. Hinata tentatively untangles his hand from Kageyama’s hair and lifts the other hand from Kageyama’s crotch, resting them in the safe zone that is the other’s chest.

There is silence for a few moments, no sound except their laboured breaths and the shifting of their clothing, then Hinata gives an exaggerated sigh.

“This wasn’t what I came here to _do_ ,” he sulks, his lip coming out in an involuntary pout, and Kageyama laughs. It’s a shock to Hinata to hear Kageyama’s laugh; it’s not brutal and rough as he would have thought, but surprisingly gentle, as their first kiss had been.

“Yeah, I guessed as much,” he answers. Hinata crosses his arms and shifts, then as Kageyama lets out an agonised squeak and their situation becomes crystal clear to him once again, he freezes.

“Get off,” Kageyama says, his voice strangled. Hinata giggles and clambers off carefully, making sure to – _accidentally_ , of course – brush up against a few more hot spots of Kageyama’s as he moves. It’s fun to tease the prince, after all, especially when the blush across his cheeks is so adorable.

 _The prince_. Suddenly, the gravity of his situation lands on him – lands on the _both_ of them – and they look up at each other at the same time. Hinata would have laughed again at the matching looks of alarm they both sport, were it not for the severity of the mood.

“Oikawa-san,” he breathes, voicing the name on both their minds. Kageyama’s lips tighten, and suddenly he grips onto Hinata’s arms, painfully-tight.

“He won’t know about this,” Kageyama hisses. “He _can’t_.”

Hinata nods frantically, because of _course_ Oikawa could never know about what they’d just done, about the attraction which had flared up between them, they’d both be flayed and disembowelled and executed at the drop of a hat. Well, perhaps Kageyama would be saved by his noble birth, but Hinata would most certainly face torture and the inevitable, painful death.

Thinking about Oikawa makes him remember his original purpose, and he bursts out, “Is it true also that you’ve joined the revolution?”

Kageyama jerks. His entire body trembles, and his grip on Hinata’s arms becomes almost crushingly painful. “ _Where did you hear about that?_ ” he hisses through gritted teeth.

“There were rumours…” Hinata mumbles, and winces at the pain shooting through his arms. Thankfully, Kageyama notices, and guilt flashes across his face as he loosens his fists. Hinata sighs. “And I overheard you, Oikawa-san and Iwaizumi-san in the garden. That’s all I came to tell you, you know. You have to be more careful, otherwise you’ll get yourself caught! For all you know, someone else might have overheard you, just like I did!”

The concern is now bleeding through into his voice, and some of it must have gotten through Kageyama’s thick skull at least, because his steely gaze softens and he lowers his head.

“It was a slip-up,” he mutters. “I don’t think it happened to someone other than you, we’ve always been careful - ”

Hinata rolls his eyes. He can’t help it, and besides, the distinction between their social classes that’s always held him back has all but disappeared now that they’ve had their tongues in each other’s mouths.

“ _It happened to me_ ,” he cries. “And that _proves_ that you weren’t careful that one time, what if someone had _overheard_ you someplace else – do you know how dangerous it is? What if you get killed?”

“I won’t!!” Kageyama yells, and Hinata stumbles backwards, his eyes wide. He hadn’t expected Kageyama to shout, and the sound bounces around the enclosed room like a clap of thunder.

Kageyama buries his head in his hands, and sighs. “Don’t you think…” he starts, then he lifts his head and glares petulantly at Hinata. “I understand the danger all too well, dumbass Hinata, and I of all people know what the risk is. But I’m willing to die if it’s for the cause.”

Hinata hesitates. He doesn’t want Kageyama to get hurt, to die, just for the sake of a silly revolution which had practically no chance of success. But it is as if Kageyama can read the thoughts on his face, for he grabs Hinata’s cheeks with his fingers, rough with calluses, and pulls him closer.

“It’s not just a silly revolution,” he says, with conviction, “and we’re going to make it. At least believe in me as far as that.”

Hinata stares at him, wide-eyed, as comprehension suddenly dawns on him. Yes, he decides, he believes in Kageyama, because he trusts Kageyama’s word.

He peels Kageyama’s hands off his cheeks and twines their fingers together in a gesture that is strange in its intimacy. He leans forward, and presses their foreheads together.

“I believe in you,” he murmurs, his voice soft and tender. “And I know you’ll come back safe.”

Kageyama swallows. “I’ll miss you,” he whispers, his voice rough, as if the words are difficult to get out.

“I’ll miss you too,” Hinata says, and darts up for another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just some kagehina fluff to cleanse the palate and an apology for being so late :( so yes they have finally _kissed_ oh my gosh the slow burn was just _killing_ me.  
>  next chapter will feature some oikage bonding, plot!!1!! and iwaois (hopefully).  
> i've already fleshed out most of the plot so don't worry, i'm not going to abandon this baby, i have _huuuuge_ plans ahead for y'all. leave a suggestion for how things are going in the comments? i feel as if my writing is going stale ugh this chapter was hard to bang out.  
>  sorry for long rambly note, hmu on [tumblr](http://kitcatkandy.tumblr.com/) <3

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This was written in a fit of madness xoxo


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